


Somebody To Die For

by lucifersfavoritechild



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Dark fic, Falling In Love, M/M, Mental Link, Mirror Universe, Mirror!Jim has a heart, Murder, Rating May Change, Romance, T'hy'la, The Terran Empire, They're horrible people and yes the story is about them, emotional trauma but everyone has it because this is the mirror universe and life is terrible, small and shriveled but it's there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:15:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 40,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24660652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucifersfavoritechild/pseuds/lucifersfavoritechild
Summary: The Terran Empire has laid claim to hundreds of civilizations since humans developed warp travel. Vulcan was the first.It's in this universe that James Kirk and Spock are brought together through ambition, conspiracy, and murder. They shouldn't work, shouldn't want each other, shouldn't fall in love . . . but when has that ever stopped them?
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock, Mirror James T. Kirk/Mirror Spock
Comments: 31
Kudos: 126





	1. Two Roads Diverged

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Star Trek: Mirror (The Movie)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9912923) by [spectralPhobia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spectralPhobia/pseuds/spectralPhobia). 



> Partially inspired by spectralPhobia's "Star Trek: Mirror (The Movie)" which is SUPER good and you should definitely check it out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for multiple, somewhat graphic descriptions of murder

_2233, ISS Kelvin_

Winona Kirk instinctively pulled a poison-slicked knife out when someone grabbed her arm, whipping around to face them. She didn’t relax when she saw who it was, but she lowered her hand slightly. “What are you doing, Pike?”

Christopher Pike was her husband’s right-hand man, absolutely invaluable as Winona’s pregnancy had begun to take its toll on her ability to help command the _ISS Kelvin_. Right now, his face was pale and waxy, stricken as he tried to urge the First Officer forward.

“We have to go.”

Winona tore her arm from his grip, sucking in a breath as pain wracked her body. “What are you talking about?”

Pike looked around anxiously, one hand on the handle of his phaser before he spoke. “Code Brutus. The Captain said he would meet us when he can.”

Time seemed to slow down then. Winona was aware of every beat of her heart and breath of her lungs. Every noise seemed as loud as gunfire, every movement from the corner of her eye an attack. She took out her phaser.

“I’ll need a doctor.” She began walking, unable to move as fast as she would have liked. “I think—” She stopped moving suddenly, hissing in pain. “I think the baby’s coming.” She didn’t like that she had to rely on him — no one in the Terran Empire ever truly trusted anyone — but she didn’t know if she’d even make it to an escape pod on her own in this condition.

Pike just nodded, looking around as they made their way through an abandoned hall. “I’ll bring one from sickbay after you get in a pod. Don’t comm anyone, if you see anyone other than me or Captain, don’t wait, just shoot.”

Winona chuckled. “I know how these things are done, Lieutenant. Don’t worry about me.” Besides, she had more than enough worry for the four of them.

They encountered a few officers on the way, two of them recently-promoted Ensigns and the other a low-level security officer. All were easily handled by phasers set to kill. Winona leaned against a wall and caught her breath as Pike dealt with the bodies, each time finding the nearest storage area and hurriedly stuffing them in before they moved on. By the time they made it to a safety pod, contracting her wracking her body every few minutes, heralding the arrival of her son. As though she needed any more warning.

Pike helped her get settled on a chair in the small, already crowded pod before standing straight. “I’ll be right back with a medical officer.” Risky business, heading back into the fray when he was so close to safety, but he didn’t think she’d survive a trip to the nearest Terran outpost without one—

Winona’s hand shot out, wrapping around his arm and pulling him towards her. Immediately, Pike pointed his phaser at her, but the look in her eyes stopped him.

“Please . . .” she begged, sweat beading on her brow, her hair stuck to her forehead. “I don’t want to be alone. I can’t— I need George. You have to get him. I can’t, I can’t _do this_ . . .”

“I know,” he said awkwardly. He didn’t know how to comfort someone, never mind a woman whose husband was dying, even if she didn’t know it. “I’ll be back soon, sir.” He pried her hand away and Winona, regaining her pride for a moment, let him go.

She lay there in the dark for what seemed like hours after he left, trying to breathe quietly. Shadows curled and twisted around her, making her flinch and look around wildly, gripping a phaser in one hand with white knuckles. Her uniform was too tight, suffocatingly tight. She wanted to cut it off. She wanted to cut her stomach open and pull the child out, then be done with it, even if it meant bleeding out, as long as she knew he would be safe . . .

The door opened again, and in Pike came, pushing a short woman wearing a white shirt, marking her as a doctor. Her eyes were wide with terror, a metallic gag keeping her from making noise. She fell forward into the pod, barely catching herself as Pike closed the door and began punching in coordinates.

“I talked to the Captain, sir,” he explained as they prepared to take off. “He said he’d draw the mutineers away and meet us when we made it home.” He looked up at her, eyes guarded. “He’s safe, sir.”

Winona shut her eyes, relaxing somewhat. “Thank you,” she said genuinely, something she’d done so few times in her life. Pike looked away, and the pod disconnected from the ship, sending them off into the dark expanse of space.

Hours later, when the surgeon was knocked out in a corner and Winona was healing, laying down with her son in her arms and a small smile on her face, she looked at Pike. “Give me your communicator. I want to talk to George.”

Pike froze then, almost eerily quiet. Winona felt her smile fade as cold realization dawned on her.

George was never going to meet them. From the moment Pike went to find her, there was never any chance of her husband surviving. He was probably dead before their son even drew his first breath.

The infant started crying then, and Winona found she couldn’t blame him. _Welcome to the world, James Tiberius Kirk,_ she thought, giggling as hysteria bubbled up in her bones and stomach. _Hope you fucking like it._

* * *

_2237, ISS Charon_

Spock measured every step carefully as he walked before the Emperor, coming to a stop just a few feet away. He bowed his head, crossing his chest. “Hail Emperor Georgiou. Long live the Terran Empire. Long live the Emperor.”

He heard the Emperor move, but didn’t dare look up, feeling the back of his neck grow hot as she examined him from head to toe. A hand appeared on his chin, forcing him to look at her. Spock’s face was expressionless as ever, his meditative practice proving useful as he controlled his anger and distaste at being touched against his will.

The Emperor smiled. It was the half-smile of Terran adults that they often used with strangers and acquaintances ( _potential enemies_ ), one he’d often seen upon his own mother’s face. “Well-trained, aren’t you?” She looked over his head to Amanda. “How kind of you to finally bring your son to my court, General Grayson.”

And there was that face again, repeated on Amanda. “Now seemed a good time. He just completed the Rite of Tal'oth last week.”

“Ah, yes,” Georgiou said. “Four months in a desert with only a knife.” She returned her attention to Spock, eyes knife-sharp. “And you lived.”

He nodded. “Yes, Emperor.”

The Emperor chuckled, finally letting him go. “You will make a good servant of the Empire when you are of age.”

Spock respectfully lowered his head. “I believe so, Emperor.”

They dined with Georgiou that night, Spock seated between his parents, head down as he kept quiet and ate. Still, he saw his mother’s small, proud smile when she looked at him from time to time. His father had perfect Vulcan self-control, but before he went to bed, Sarek said that he was proud of how Spock had conducted himself. Spock allowed himself the smallest of smiles before he fell asleep.

* * *

_2244, Terra_

Jim squeezed his eyes shut when he heard the door open and slam downstairs. His step-father was home. He could hear Frank talking to himself, too drunk to realize he wasn’t being quiet. Something fell, crashing on the floor, and Frank cursed, half-shouting, “ _Where is that boy?_ ”

Jim lay perfectly still as he stared at the digital clock on his nightstand, watching the minutes tick by. Ten, and Frank would be lying on the couch, the bedroom door locked when he didn’t return home before eleven. Thirty, and he was probably asleep. Sixty, and it was safe to breathe again.

Seventy-five minutes on the dot, and Jim moved for the first time, staying as quiet as possible as got out of bed and inched toward the door, opening it. He slinked downstairs, avoiding the creaky steps, his movements feather-light. He carried a pillow in his hands, gripping it so hard he thought his fingers would break. They didn’t.

As he expected, Frank was fast asleep on the couch, lying on his back with his mouth agape as he snored. He smelled like rain and alcohol.

Jim breathed heavily, nervous. He could do it. He knew he could do it. George Kirk had silenced dozens of enemies when they thought they were safe. Sometimes, when his mother was wistful, she told him the stories. He would be as strong as his father.

Before he could lose his nerve, Jim hurriedly climbed on top of Frank’s chest and pressed the pillow to his face. It covered the man’s mouth and nose, and Jim’s knobby knees dug into his chest, putting pressure on his lungs.

He fought. Of course he did. Even a worm like Frank would fight when their life was on the line. He woke up, still drunk and stinking, and tried to pull the pillow away, legs thrashing. But his movements were slow and weak, and Jim refused to budge, to move even an inch. He wanted to. He was scared. He wasn't ready to kill someone, hadn't thought this would be so hard — but now that he'd started, he knew he couldn't stop. He couldn't lose his resolve, or else Frank would— he'd—

Jim pressed down harder, never weakening his grip. Frank stilled, and Jim sobbed, knowing he'd won.

* * *

_2244, Vulcan_

Spock paused in his walk, hearing someone behind him. He turned, feeling irritation flare up when he saw Stonn, even as he made sure his face was closed-off. “Stonn. Have you followed me to persist in your insults?”

“Affirmative.”

Spock nodded. He would not lose his temper. He would not shame himself or his family. “Do not waste time.”

Stonn tilted his head, taking another step towards him. The day was growing late, and the Vulcan sky was a reddish-purple. “I have heard that you excel in the Astrometrics lessons. Do you plan to join Starfleet as an adult?”

Spock knew better than to give him an answer, positive or negative.

“It would suit you. It is known that those Terrans who serve in Starfleet are the most violent of their kind, and you are half-Terran, are you not?”

Spock stared at his schoolmate, wondering where he planned to go with this. It seemed to be Stonn’s new favorite type of insult, suggesting Spock was as violent as his human ancestors. Although Spock endeavored not to let it affect him, he was shamed to know that he often failed.

“You will die a Cadet if you do. Your human blood is as thin as your Vulcan blood. Was it not your father’s ancestor who surrendered our planet to the Empire? You are not only half-Vulcan. You are half-traitor.”

Spock’s fist clenched despite himself, and he shut his eyes as he sought control. “Cease.”

Stonn’s face subtly shifted in amusement. “You cannot even withstand these insults without becoming angered. Weakness. You _should_ join Starfleet. You will be able to kill to your red heart’s delight there. At least until they rid themselves of you.”

“ _Stop._ ”

“Perhaps Georgiou will order the deaths of your family. Then you will die with your coward father and whore mother—”

Before Stonn had finished speaking, Spock moved, tackling him to the dirt. The other Vulcan sucked in a breath as his back struck the ground. Stonn tried to sit up, but Spock was attacking his face, pelting him with blows, far harder than he ever struck someone in his martial arts classes. Stonn grunted, trying to sit up, and Spock punched his chest twice to keep him in place. He looked around wildly, pupils dark and dilated as he picked up a rock, almost too large and heavy for him, and brought it down hard on Stonn’s face.

Stonn screamed in pain, green blood erupting from his head. Spock didn’t stop. He couldn’t. A fire had been lit within him and he had to keep going, growling like an animal as he beat Stonn’s face into dark-green mush. He felt Stonn's mind reach out as he died, desperate for contact in his final moments. Spock shut his mind off to him, ignoring his desperation, his fear. Stonn’s body grew still as Spock panted, dropping the rock on what remained of Stonn’s skull and grey matter.

Spock rolled over and off of the body, looking up at the darkening sky. For once, he allowed himself to lose track of time as he traced the stars.

* * *

_2245, Tarsus IV_

“What do you have?”

Kirk stopped in his tracks, holding his bag tight against his chest as he turned to face the guard. His cheeks flushed when his stomach growled. The last time he checked, he could see his ribs through his skin. His cheeks felt gaunt and thin, like a corpse. He hadn’t eaten in nearly six days, not seen another person for weeks.

Until now.

“You _heard me_ , boy,” the guard barked, taking out a phaser and pointing it at him. “ _Come here._ ”

He didn’t have a choice. Jim reluctantly walked over, holding his bag open for the guard to see. The man took it from him roughly, looking through.

“Bread, cheese, some apples . . . stolen food, huh?” He smirked. They were close enough that Jim could practically feel the guard’s heat. “You’re in a world of trouble—”

Jim gathered all the strength in his tired body, reared back, and kicked the guard in the groin. He shouted out, hands automatically going to cover himself, but Jim didn’t stop, grabbing hold of his knee and pulling it out from under him. He fell to the ground, groaning and cursing. “ _You little fucker_ —”

Jim went in again, raising his foot and stomping on the man’s throat. The guard choked, spitting blood as Jim reached down and pulled the phaser from his hand, kicking and stepping on his wrist when he didn’t surrender it. It was a more advanced model than the one mom had at home, but the mechanics were the same. Turn to kill, aim, fire.

Later, Jim contentedly munched on an apple as he prepared to go to sleep in the cave he’d staked out. He had enough food to last a few days, an armored vest, and a phaser. A good day’s work.

* * *

_2248, Vulcan_

“You wish to join Starfleet.”

Spock knew his father well enough to know it was not a question. He did not pause in his schoolwork. “Correct.”

“Explain your reasoning.”

Spock looked up, seeking out his father’s eyes. He was constantly aware of his own, all too human ones that he’d inherited from his mother. Now was no different.

“In a society centered around power and ambition, it is logical to seek out a position that will allow me to pursue my own.”

“It is not logical to go to one’s own death.”

Sarek’s words were not without reason. It was a well-known fact that Starfleet was the most dangerous sector of the Empire to serve, worse still for non-Terrans. Most would count themselves lucky to live past thirty, but Vulcans did not believe in luck.

“I do not intend to die before my time.”

“Your intentions do not matter. If you go, they will kill you. However, I remain Governor of Vulcan. I may request dispensation from the Emperor to mentor you myself—”

“No.”

Sarek stilled, staring at his son with something like disbelief. “No?”

“I wish to serve with Starfleet.” He didn’t know if he could explain to his father his desire to prove himself, to seek a place in the universe that was his own. He was certain Starfleet was the way to that. He didn’t know if he would find it, but something about this felt right. . .

But that was not a logical way of doing things. Not the Vulcan way, certainly not something he could tell his father.

“You understand the risks? I can not persuade you?”

“I understand perfectly what I plan to do, and no, you can not.”

They stared at each other, neither willing to budge an inch. “You will inform your mother of your intentions.”

Spock nodded.

Sarek turned to leave. “Then it will be done.”

* * *

_2254, Terra_

Jim and Winona Kirk sat silently in their living room, waiting. He sighed when his mother spoke, leaning forward so he was facing his knees.

“Engineering track is less ambitious. You're smart enough. Just keep your head down, don’t make any waves, and Pike will take you on his ship. He’ll look out for you.”

He turned from her, facing the door. “You’ve said that a thousand times before. It didn’t change my mind then, and it won’t now.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know what it’s really like out there, those _people_ —”

“ _You_ were one of them!” he shouted, jumping to his feet as though to start a fight. “So was dad!”

Winona didn’t move except to look up at him. “ _And look what they did to us!_ George was killed by people he thought he _trusted_! Is that what you want?! To die bloody and alone on the other side of the universe?!”

“Maybe it is,” he snapped. “Maybe that would be better than sitting here with you, jumping at every noise and shadow, crying when you think no one can hear! You call yourself Terran? You’re _weak_.” He stormed out onto the porch, shoving the nearest chair under the knob to keep it shut.

Winona pounded on the door. “ _Jim! James Tiberius Kirk, open this door right not_ —”

Jim ignored her, bounding down the steps, preparing to sit on the final one when he saw it.

A drone hovered over the walkway, stopping a meter from him. A red light scanned his face. “ _James Tiberius Kirk. You are an adult citizen of the Terran Empire. You will be drafted to serve for a minimum of five years._ ”

Jim took a breath, nodding once to himself as he gathered his nerve. “Affirmative.”

“ _State the sector in which you will serve or one will be chosen for you._ ”

“Starfleet. Command track.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been thinking of writing this fic for so long that now that I am, it's almost nerve-wracking.
> 
> This is my first ever Star Trek fic, so feedback is definitely appreciated (but be gentle). Hope you enjoy!


	2. Violent Ends

Jim walked through the halls of the Academy, intensely aware of the eyes that looked at him a little too long before sliding to something else. He ignored them, making his way to the one room where he knew he’d be safe, a luxury few had in this world.

The door clicked shut behind him as he stepped into the office. Admiral Pike stood up behind his desk, smiling. “James!” He walked around the table and pulled the Cadet into a hug — the only person other than his mother that was allowed to touch him that way. Pike smiled at him before letting the young man go. “I want you to meet someone.”

Jim Kirk turned to face the other person standing in the room then, someone he’d noticed immediately from the corner of his eye but hadn’t paid much attention to. A man, obviously Vulcan judging by his painfully neat hair and pointed ears, wearing the blue uniform of a science officer. The insignia on his chest marked him as a Commander.

The Vulcan raised a hand, spreading his fingers in a gesture Jim recognized as a ta’al. “Live long and prosper.”

Jim considered shaking the man’s hand just to mess with him, but he doubted Pike would be impressed. He returned the ta’al, and the appropriate greeting. “Peace and long life.”

The Vulcan’s expression didn’t change, but Jim had the sense that he’d surprised the alien. It was a surprise when he smiled. He was normally better at keeping his facial expressions under control, but right now he felt strange. Something in his head was . . . warm. Peaceful. Like he was floating. Huh. _Did Bones put something in my breakfast again?_

“James,” Pike said, bringing him back to himself. “This is Commander Spock. He’s the head of my science division on the _Enterprise_. Spock, this is James Kirk. He’s a . . . family friend. In a few weeks, he’s going to graduate and begin his five years of service.”

“I am sure he will do well,” Spock said with the tiniest hint of wariness, undetectable to someone who hadn’t spent their life searching for enemies in every wrinkle of the face and blink of the eye. “However, the purpose of this meeting is unclear.”

Pike sighed, sounding tired. “Getting to that.” There was a device on his desk, a small, featureless black rectangle. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands and pressing down on one side. Another moment, and a small light appeared on the object, blue and steady. He nodded. “Just making sure no one’s listening in.” Pike sat down in his high-backed leather chair, and nodded at them to take the seats before him. Both officers did, Jim turning for a single moment to catch another glance of the Vulcan beside him.

Pike steepled his hands, looking at them over his fingertips. “I have a mission that I want the two of you to work on together. If you accept, you will never be able to tell anyone about what you’ve done. It’s a secret you’ll take to your graves, and more importantly, _mine_. And everything has to be done to perfection.” He smiled crookedly. “You two up for it?”

Jim nodded immediately, eager to prove himself. Spock was more reserved in his answer, saying, “I will help in any way I can, Admiral.”

A quiet, measured response, not indicating his own interest one way or another. Jim wondered if the Vulcan had spent his entire life finding the best ways to manage the temperamental humans around him, people who were constantly one step from blowing up at whoever happened to be standing closest and would delight in having a xeno target. Definitely someone to look out for if he’d made it this far.

Pike drew his attention again when he leaned forward, his expression one of total seriousness. “I want you to kill me.”

Jim blinked. Waited for Pike to say he was joking. Blinked again when that didn’t happen. “. . . I gotta admit, that’s not what I expected.”

Beside him, Spock was frowning. “I am also confused.”

Pike shrugged, as though there was nothing out of the ordinary about his request. “I never thought I’d be saying it. But recent events have caused me to reevaluate things. Jim, you know Georgiou has never been fond of me.”

That was putting it lightly. Phillipa Georgiou was one of the officers who conspired against George Kirk twenty-four years ago. She’d taken the _Kelvin_ and catapulted herself into power from there. Pike’s loyalty to the Kirks being well-known, he’d often had to walk a fine line just to stay alive when it came to the Emperor.

Jim had the sinking feeling he’d faltered.

“I’ve heard she’s planned to have me killed on some trumped-up charge.” Pike shook his head, blue eyes growing hard and angry. “She’ll give the _Enterprise_ to whoever kills me. Vile bitch. I’m sure she wants one of her dogs to do it, probably Marcus’s daughter.” The Admiral smiled harshly. “But I’ll be twice-damned if I let one of Georgiou’s pets have everything I worked for handed to them on a silver platter.” He looked at Spock. “I’ve already told Number One what I plan to do. She’s been in Starfleet a long time, more than enough to retire. She’s going to act like we had a falling out and leave. When that happens, I’ll promote you to First Officer.” He turned to Jim, who was staring at him with open apprehension. “I’ll bring you onto the _Enterprise_ as an Ensign. You’ll kill me, take the Captaincy, and Spock will help force the crew into line. You’re young and brash, so they’ll see you as an easy target. An experienced First Officer’s knowledge and support will be invaluable.” He considered his words before shrugging. “You'll probably keep two-thirds or so of the crew by the end. You know how these things go, there’s always a few dozen or so idiots who think they’ll come out on top.”

By then, Jim was shaking his head, and he leaned forward once Pike had stopped talking, his eyes pleading. “Sir, with all due respect, this is _fucking insane_! You can’t seriously expect me to _kill you!_ ”

“I must admit, I share the Cadet’s apprehension,” Spock said, forming a slight frown with his brows. “Would it not be more logical to retire and attempt to avoid the Emperor’s ire?”

Pike shook his head. “I’m not built for civilian life. And Georgiou won’t let me go that easily. If I run, they’ll chase me. Fake my death, and all it’ll take is one spy or wrong word and I’ll be spending the rest of my days in an agonizer booth. No. Consider this my last gift to you. You would’ve been haunted by your father’s reputation your whole life; now, the Emperor will believe in your loyalty . . . or at least your self-motivation. Which is usually enough.”

“But—”

“ _No_ ,” Pike said harshly, staring Jim down. “I’ve been thinking of this for weeks now. I don’t want anyone else to take my ship. I’d rather burn it. You’re either in or out. So which is it?”

Jim stared at one of the medals that decorated the Admiral’s chest, awards he flaunted even in private. All those years of clawing to his position, fighting off competitors from Starfleet, crushing rebels, and conquering new worlds . . . all gone by his hand.

_Better than someone else._

When he looked up again, both Pike and Spock were watching him. The Vulcan, it seemed, had made his decision. That, as much as anything Pike said, made him nod. “When do we ship out?”

* * *

Jim walked through the corridors of the _ISS Enterprise_ for the first time, crossing his chest with one arm and bowing his head whenever he saw another officer. The ship was darkly lit, decorated in shades of black and dark red. The insignia of the Terran Empire — their home planet Earth with a sword thrust through the top — was emblazoned on every wall in shining gold.

He wasn’t the only new officer on the ship. Between battles with aliens and the infighting that defined their people, Starfleet crews had to be replenished regularly. The new guys were fresh out of the Academy, most of them young and eager to fight. Even the xeno recruits were thirsty for a fight, and several had already broken out, three in the cafeteria, one in the rec hall, and the last on the bridge. The last one Pike had personally put an end to, knocking one of the new recruits to the ground and smashing their hand with his boot and breaking the other guy’s nose. At the end of it, both of them had been punished with six hours in a booth, and the crew was more subdued until Pike’s shift ended.

Pike had stationed Jim as a helmsman, working the same shift as the Captain and First Officer. They left the bridge within minutes of each other.

And now Jim was standing in front of Pike’s room, wasting time so he didn’t have to knock.

He had to, eventually. It couldn’t be put off any longer. Only a few seconds after he did, the door slid open. Pike beckoned him inside, speaking via comm in a hushed tone. Jim thought he recognized Number One’s voice on the other end.

Jim stood with his back to a wall, looking around. The Captain had the largest bedroom in the ship, with a bed big enough for four people, a personal bath, a replicator, and arms caches. Pike’s was decorated with war trophies taken from various battles over the past thirty years, polished blades, sharp teeth and nails, and elaborately carved and decorated weapons.

And soon they would be his.

Pike shut off his comm suddenly, sighing. “She’ll be fine.” He put on a smile, real enough for anyone who didn’t know him. “Come on, let’s have a drink.”

He seemed incredibly casual as he replicated two tumblers of Andorian whiskey, passing one to Jim. In fact, Jim couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his mentor so relaxed or carefree. He didn’t know how to feel about that, so he chose not to feel anything at all. Numb himself. It had served him well on Tarsus IV, and he could do it now.

Pike opened a console in a wall and pressed a button, revealing a window opening out onto space. He sighed contentedly. “I want to die looking at these stars. Couldn’t have hoped for a better view.”

Jim shifted awkwardly, his glass untouched. “You don’t . . . we can stop. No one else knows. It wouldn’t—”

Pike stopped him with a hand. “Don’t try to talk me out of this, kid. I made up my mind a while ago.” He leaned against the glass as he drank, never interrupting the silence. So, Jim didn’t either. They stood in quiet companionship, drinking and watching the stars pass by.

It was perhaps half an hour later when Pike looked down in his glass and was it was empty. “Now’s as good a time as any.” He dropped the glass on the floor, not reacting when it shattered at his feet. He took a moment to stretch his arms before asking, “How are you going to do it.”

Jim took out the hypo he had tucked alongside his phaser, showing it to him. “Mandorian deathroot. No cure. It causes paralysis through the entire body in under thirty seconds, then death. Should be painless.”

“I appreciate that. Where’d you get it?”

“Swiped it from a friend. Medical officer.”

Pike simply nodded, seeming satisfied by this. He turned his back to Jim. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

For a moment, Jim just stared at him, still as a statue. Then he launched into action, grabbing Pike’s blonde-silver hair and wrenching him backwards at the same time that his other hand jabbed the hypo into his neck in one firm, fluid motion.

Pike sputtered for a moment before allowing himself to fall backwards, laying in Jim’s arms. He managed a chuckle. “Nice work, kid. You might even have had a chance against me for real . . .” Then he stopped speaking. Jim guessed that his lungs were starting to feel the effects, making it difficult to breathe, never mind talk.

Jim stared down at his still, slack face. “I’m . . . I’m sorry.”

If he’d wanted a response, there was none. He waited a few moments before checking for a pulse. There was none.

Jim shut his eyes, squeezing what had been his mentor. Then he let go, stood up, and activated his comm. He had to clear his throat twice before speaking. “Commander Spock. It’s done. Meet me on the bridge, we’ll move from there.”

At first, he didn’t even expect a response. Then— “ _Affirmative, Captain._ ”

Well . . . he could get used to that.

* * *

In the moments before the turbolift door opened, Jim muttered a quiet, “Sorry about this.” Then the bridge came into view, and Jim threw Pike’s body to the ground, immediately drawing the attention of the crew. More than a dozen sets of eyes turned to stare at him as he walked forward, keeping his back clear as he twirled a knife in one hand.

“Admiral Pike has resigned from his position on the _Enterprise_ ,” Jim informed them. “This welcome committee leaves a lot to be desired, I have to admit.”

The security officer stationed nearest to the door attacked first, phaser already in hand. Jim moved instinctively, dodging to avoid a shot to the head as he grabbed a navigation officer who happened to be sitting nearby, pulling him up and using him as a human shield against the rapid-fire shots that came next. He shoved the officer in his hold into the guard, knocking them down.

A flash of movement crossed his eye. On the other side of the room, a helmsman and communications officer had stood up, only for the latter to quickly be reduced to a heap on the floor when Spock shot forward and closed a hand around a spot on her neck.

_A Vulcan nerve pinch_ , Jim thought. He’d never seen it before, hadn’t even known it was real, but it seemed effective. He left the other crewman to Spock, returning his attention to the security officer. He was trying to get up, but Jim delivered a sharp kick to the man’s ribs, grinning when he shouted in pain.

“If I knock you down—” He pulled the guard up by the back of his uniform and forced him to lie on his stomach, straddling the man’s back as grabbed a fistful of his hair and used it for leverage, bashing the officer’s head on the floor, each impact sounding out with a painful _thud_ and the sound of cracking bones. “I expect you to _stay down_.” He kept going, putting more force into every smack, his face contorted into an open-mouthed grin as he grabbed hold of all his anger and frustration and _pain_ and took it out on the unlucky officer.

By the time he looked up again, there was blood spattered on his face and hands and uniform. He ignored it in favor of looking at the crew’s reactions, split as it was between himself and his First Officer.

Spock had the helmsman on the ground, the bottom of his boot pressing down into their cheek as he spoke. “Kirk is your new Captain, I am the First Officer. You will obey him as you did Pike, or you will be killed slowly.”

Perhaps Spock was another thing he could get used to.

* * *

“We’ll need a new Head of Security,” Jim said casually as they stepped into the lift together.

“I will see to it.” The Vulcan was impeccably cool, either unaware or uncaring of the streak of red blood on his cheek.

“And make sure the communications op wakes up eventually. The crew should have an announcement before they find out the hard way.”

“Certainly.” Spock tilted his head slightly. “It will be some time before the entire crew accepts you as Captain. My observations of the crew suggest that the majority are violent and ambitious. There is a 98.8% chance that you will be attacked multiple times within the first three days of your new position.”

“Looking forward to it.” Jim watched him from out of the side of his eye, considering. “Pike knew you wouldn’t betray me. He insisted we do it together. Why?”

If possible, Spock seemed to grow even more still, not daring to look at Jim as he answered. “I do not seek the Captaincy. It would make me a greater target than is logical. Admiral Pike was aware of my preference, and believed I would make a sufficient second-in-command because of this.”

Now, Jim turned to look at him openly, wondering if his attention would make the Vulcan nervous. “He said you were loyal.”

“Loyalty is a rare commodity in the Empire. We cannot allow it to bind us.”

“That’s not a no.”

Spock faced him, tilting his head in faux curiosity. “You cared for the Admiral. His passing has caused you pain.”

Jim said nothing, curling his lip in anger and returning his gaze to the wall in front of them. A moment later, Spock followed his lead.

“I grieve with thee.”

Jim looked at him in shock. He half-expected the Vulcan to follow his statement with some kind of insult or mocking comment about how _illogical_ it was of Terrans to lay waste to the world around them yet be grieved when they lost someone. Spock did nothing.

Jim waited until the lift had stopped before replying. “. . . Thank you.” Then the doors opened, and they set out to face the rest of the crew.


	3. A Part Of The Main

Jim turned his face at the last moment, the fist brushing against his cheek rather than breaking his nose. He grinned, knowing there was blood on his teeth. “C’mon Lieutenant, you can do better than that.”

He feinted to the side and caught his attacker’s hand when she tried again, gathering his strength to push her up against a wall, twisting her wrist. She shouted out in pain when they heard a _crack_ , trying to kick at his knee, but she couldn’t get any leverage from this position and her weapons lay scattered on the floor. He had to restrain her other hand when it dove for his eye, her thumb moving to gouge him—

The door opened and a phaser shot rang out, stunning the Lieutenant in his arms. Jim turned to see who it was.

Commander Spock did not seem impressed by the position he found his new Captain in. But then again, Vulcans never seemed impressed. “I came to inform you that your new guards have had their neural inhibitors successfully implanted. Shall I order one to collect Lieutenant Greene and place her in a booth?”

Jim slung the officer over his shoulder, casually walking past the Vulcan. “Sure. Let’s walk together.”

Spock arched a brow before following him. “Dr. McCoy has accepted your invitation to join the _Enterprise_ as Chief Medical Officer after the previous one met an . . . unfortunate accident. We will collect him, as well as the new Helmsman and Communications Officer, at the next Starfleet Base before going to Romulus.”

“Perfect.” A pair of Ensigns stopped and bowed when they passed by, pointedly not looking at the Lieutenant that Jim was carrying like a sack of potatoes.

The Head of Security was waiting for them in the brig, along with eight newly-promoted security officers, none of whom raised their heads when they bowed to the Captain. Jim could see the implants embedded in their necks, small metal circles that occasionally blinked yellow to show they were working. They were meant to keep the Captain’s personal guards from harming him. Jim remembered Pike had raised the possibility of using them on a ship’s entire crew, but he’d quickly been shot down. Starfleet didn’t really want their Captains that well-protected.

“At ease,” Jim said, a tiny thrill rushing through him when all of the guards instantly obeyed. “I want Lieutenant Greene here—” he dropped her on the floor, “in an agonizer booth. We’ll arrange an execution after handling the Romulans.”

“Of course, Captain,” Lieutenant Commander Sulu said, not quite looking at Jim so much as past him. Jim made a mental note to keep an eye on him.

“Mr. Sulu, I want two guards with met at all times unless I personally dismiss them. When I’m not on the bridge, I want another two guards there.”

“I’ll arrange their schedules, Captain.”

Jim half-expected another attack then — Greene had been the third one of the day, and half of the agonizer booths were full only two days in — but none came. He left, heading back to the Captain’s quarters ( _Pike’s rooms_ ) since Alpha shift was over. Spock walked beside him.

Jim waited until they were alone before speaking again. “What do you do when you’re off-shift?”

“The ship is equipped with a rec hall, gym, shooting range, and multiple holodecks that serve as training simulations if you require stimulation. However, I would recommend avoiding areas where crewmembers congregate until they have grown used to your presence—”

“No,” Jim interrupted. “What do _you_ do off-shift?”

It took a moment for the Vulcan to answer, probably trying to dissect Jim’s motives. “When I have completed my duties, I prefer to spend my time either in the science labs or in my quarters, Captain.”

“Hm. Have you ever played chess?”

* * *

“Do they even have chess on Vulcan?” Jim asked, lounging casually across from Spock as they observed the 3-D chess set separating them.

“It was a fairly well-known game amongst the Terran citizens who first occupied Vulcan. Since it is a game of logic, its popularity spread from there.”

Jim moved his queen then, and as soon as he did, Spock took his knight. He added that to his assessment of the Vulcan; he did not plan to let his Terran Captain win. “You’re pretty good at this.”

“My mother taught me. She enjoys this game.”

“General Grayson?” Jim had only seen the General a few times in his life, never in person, but she was fairly well-known, supposedly a trusted confidante of the Emperor, if such people could even exist. The Terran military did not interact much with them. They were the on-ground fighters in places where the Empire had already established a foothold. Starfleet were the explorers, the ones who discovered and struck first against new planets and species, attacking from space and looping new people into their control. “Why didn’t you join the military then?”

Spock paused with a finger still on his bishop. “Starfleet better suited my personal interests.”

“Because you’re a scientist?”

“In part.” Spock’s king was in check. He had to change his queen’s position to fic it. “Do you wish to discuss the crew?”

“Hey, if you want to change the subject.”

“I do not—” Spock stopped, neat brows drawing together in a frown before he moved on. “We will arrive at Romulus in two days. This may provide an opportunity for you to establish yourself and show your strength.”

“Sounds fun.” Despite his flippancy, he knew that this was a critical time. All new Captains were tested by their crew, young ones even more so. It wasn’t uncommon for someone his age to take power; it _was_ rare that they kept it.

“Lieutenant Scott has requested a meeting with you. I do not believe he will pose a danger, and it would be unwise to ignore him, but I recommend keeping your personal guard with you at all times.”

“Do you ever talk about anything but work?” Jim was paying more attention to Spock’s hands than the actual game they were supposed to be playing, his attention occasionally drawn to the other man’s mouth as he spoke. He thought of that strange feeling he’d had when they first met, that warmth, surprising in how natural it seemed, how easy it was not to be suspicious or guarded in the Vulcan’s presence.

Spock observed him for a few seconds, dark eyes giving away nothing, before removing his hand from the chessboard. It was another moment before he spoke. “Is there . . . something else you want me to do?”

Jim didn’t have to read between the lines. The words were bolded, capitalized, and bulky. Terrans’ tendency to simply take what they wanted and damn whoever they hurt didn’t just extend to alien planets. There was no regulation that even pretended to prevent Starfleet Captains from taking advantage of their crew. Xeno officers had it worse. First Officers especially often enjoyed sexual, even _romantic_ , relationships with their Captain, like Pike and Number One or even George and Winona.

So Jim could have Spock if he wanted — and he _did_ want. He’d always had a bit of a xeno fetish, and Spock was handsome, solid and well-built, with nimble fingers and pointed ears he’d like to bite. He wanted to make him blush, make him moan and tear down those carefully tended walls . . .

But he didn’t want Spock to look at him like that. Hesitant and careful, like he was a dangerous animal that needed to be placated and watched. And he didn’t want to hurt him. He wanted Spock to fall into his bed with all the eagerness that a Vulcan was capable of having. It was a stupid, useless, _hopeless_ part of himself that he’d often repressed and tried to squash, that romantic side that wanted to care for someone and be cared for in return. He’d be lying if he said that Spock didn’t appeal to that sliver of his mind. A First Officer was the closest thing that a Captain had to a friend, usually hand chosen by them, more loyal than any other member of the crew, and was often the first target of mutineers attempting to ambush their superior.

Jim wanted that bond, that closeness. He couldn’t have it if he destroyed the seed of trust that lay between them right out the bat.

“No. You should get some rest. Alpha shift tomorrow.”

Spock tilted his head, curious. Jim stood up. “Good night, Mr. Spock.”

A beat passed before the Vulcan followed his example. “Good night, Captain.”


	4. To Tread In The Dirt

The Romulan Rebellion was an ongoing thorn in the Empire’s side for the past few _decades_. Starfleet sent their warships every few months to stamp out resistance and seek out any new information they could find. It was largely a pointless endeavor. Neither empire had made much progress towards the other since George Kirk’s time. Most Romulans would sooner commit suicide than give up anything of value, and the weaker ones usually didn’t have anything of value to tell them.

Jim couldn’t care less about politics. Whatever else, the Romulans made for a good fight, allowing them to get their hands dirty rather than just firing from above. Jim stood in the war room with Spock, Sulu, and McCoy as they went over their orders, a holographic map of the fortress below hovering over the table. Romulus itself was practically abandoned, but its people had scattered over the Beta and Delta Quadrants, often destroying Terran outposts and ships, occasionally wrestling back control over human-infected planets where they could. Their latest stronghold was on a planet at the edge of the Alpha-Beta line. Bold. And stupid. They’d barely been able to set up shop before being detected.

“Starfleet’s intelligence says that they have defenses at every entryway and exit, probably including fifty we don’t know about.” The planet didn’t have a known name, only the designation of B-238. It had been a Romulan holding once, but now it was mostly dust and ash. The only structures still standing were strong stone buildings that had avoided the original bombardments. It was one such place they were going to now, dark, windowless, and subtly fortified.

“Mr. Spock?” His First Officer stood at attention. “I’m told Vulcans and Romulans are closely related.”

“That is correct. Romulans lacking brow ridges are visually indistinguishable.” Spock, as usual, had no emotional reaction, or suppressed it if he did. Jim would have to ask for tips.

“Think you could blend in if we send you down?”

“With the correct coordinates, I estimate a 92.07% of success, Captain.”

Jim allowed the smallest smile to slit past his defenses before tamping down on it. “Do that. I assume you have experience with programming and hacking?” When Spock nodded, he continued. “Good. I want you to take down their defenses. When that’s done, comm the transport room and we’ll beam you up. We’ll use torpedoes to block off the exits and take out anyone still outside, then Spock and I will each lead a team of thirty officers through the fortress and grab anything important. Sulu will lead a team outside to wipe out stragglers. I want one of you on either flank, I’ll take the center. Dr. McCoy, prepare tranqs and neuros for us and have sickbay ready for when we’re done. Any questions?”

There were none. He ordered Sulu to have the officers ready and returned to his own room to prepare. New clothes, perfectly sized to fit him, including a battle suit made of thick, protective material. The command gold coat he wore felt similar to the leather jackets he was fond of back home. The Captain’s insignia decorated his chest.

He downed a glass of Andorian whiskey, shaking his head. His hand kept itching to grab the phaser at his waist. _Nerves_ , he thought, close to laughing. Not even Pike’s plan had inspired these kinds of feelings. The last time he’d been this nervous was probably before the Booth test at the academy. Calling it a ‘test’ had always seemed a bit of a stretch. A Cadet was locked in an agitator booth and left there until they decided to come out. The longer the better, though only an hour was required. Most gave in after two.

Jim stayed in for over sixteen hours. Long enough that they thought he was so out of his mind with pain that he couldn’t signal anymore and pulled him out.

He put down a second glass without finishing it. Let it never be said he couldn’t handle his nerves.

* * *

“Commander Spock is contacting the bridge, Captain,” the new Communications Officer, Uhura, informed him.

Jim was standing at the front of the room, looking at the viewscreen that showed the planet below. He turned a fraction to the side to show he heard, not moving his eyes. “Put him through.”

“ _Spock to Enterprise._ ”

“Mr. Spock,” Jim acknowledged, turning to lean against a wall. “Report.”

“ _The defenses of the Romulan Rebel base are down. You may proceed to the next phase._ ”

Jim smiled. “Affirmative. Comm Scotty and get out of there before they realize what happened and gut you.” He waited until Spock confirmed he was on board before returning to his place before the viewscreen. “Mr. Sulu, prepare to strike.”

Sulu did just that, staring down at the green-and-grey planet as his fingers moved over his console. “Torpedoes at the ready, Captain. Preparing to fire in three . . . two . . .”

Jim watched with rapt attention as the _Enterprise_ rained fire on Romulus below. Plumes of red and gold and black rose from the stone and dust surface of the planet, creating a circle of fire and explosions around the base. He wondered, vaguely, if he was supposed to feel something. Victory or satisfaction, maybe.

If he felt anything at all, he didn't let it touch him. “Prepare the transporter rooms.”

* * *

They beamed down to a world of chaos. The floor was hot beneath their boots. The crew had to wear masks to keep from breathing in smoke. The building still stood, but there were cracks in the walls that Jim could see.

As soon as they materialized, Romulans were firing on them with phaser rifles set to kill. A helmet formed around his head as he moved forward and raised his own weapon and fired, pressing his back against a wall. There were probably a dozen Romulans in the hall, all low-level security. They’d have to go further in to find anyone of importance, if they hadn’t managed to flee. It didn’t particularly matter if they did. The Romulans always popped back up, like particularly irritating daisies, but never for long. Running now just meant they would be run down later.

They exchanged fire for less than three minutes. Romulans were as smart as their Vulcan cousins and their technological advances had been added to those stolen and used by the Terran Empire, but these rebels were poorly armed with the leftovers from decades of war and fighting. Terran taser weapons allowed them to knock out the aliens without having to pierce their tough armor. Jim downed the first three for questioning before switching his phaser to kill, blowing holes as large as dinner plates into their chests and stomachs, even destroying the head of one guard. Romulan flesh was a dull grey, their blood sickly green. Both splattered against the walls and floors like streaks of paint.

There were only two Romulans still standing when they decided to run, fleeing further into the building. Jim followed before they’d even finished turning around, his boots loudly pounding against the stone floor. He heard the other officers disperse behind him, spreading through the building, looking for a fight. He didn’t hear as many as there should have been. Likely some of them had fallen, probably a quarter or more. He didn’t look back.

He shot the first one easily enough, jumping over the body when it fell to the ground, but the second dodged his attempts, jumping around and contorting his body in strange ways to avoid enemy fire. Jim sped up, hearing shouting and feeling his legs burn as he did. He was gaining on her with every step, close enough now to see a streak of soot on her neck as she wrenched a door open—

Jim grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back, twisting them around so he was pushing the Romulan guard to the floor and holding her there. She scrambled to turn her phaser on him, but Jim knocked it out of her hand and brought his elbow down hard on her neck.

She choked, but didn’t stop fighting, grabbing his wrists and pushing him back, alien strength and will to live forcing him off of her. She was writhing around like an eel, moving him one way and another, knocking his phasers away. Jim reached for one of the knives that lined his belt, but the Romulan under him summoned her strength to throw him off of her. Moving with lightning speed, she pulled a knife from his waist and aimed it at his jugular—

And slumped forward to the floor, her bloody head falling on Jim’s thigh. Smoke drifted up from a wound at the base of her neck, itself not a gaping hole, barely held to her body by a few strips of flesh and muscle.

Spock walked over to him, lowering his weapon and nudging the body away with his foot. “The building is secure, Captain.”

Jim nodded, tamping down on his harsh breaths as he pulled himself up. “Any casualties from our side?”

“Three dead, six in need of medical attention. It appears that when the Romulans became aware of our presence, they attempted to wipe their database and destroy any information about the rebellion. I doubt we will recover anything of value.”

Jim sighed. “Well, what else is new?”

“We acquired three prisoners to interrogate—”

“Figure of speech, Spock.”

* * *

The prisoners were beamed up and sequestered in holding cells. Jim stood outside one with McCoy and Spock as one of them broke into consciousness, blinking once before their eyes shifted and they became closed-off, a stone statue. Jim smirked at them before returning his attention to the conversation. “Spock, think you can crack into these guys’ heads?”

“Romulans possess similar telepathic abilities to my own. It is possible that I will be unable to breach their mental shielding, in which case Doctor McCoy—”

The Romulan male spoke then, in a voice low enough that none of them were certain what he said at first. The security guards aimed their phaser rifles at the glass wall that separated them from their prisoner. Jim took a step forward, voice taunting when he said, “What was that? Can’t hear ya’ from all the way over here.”

Their prisoner looked directly at Spock, lips pulled back in a furious snarl. The word that came was low, rough, and halting. “ _Traitor._ ”

If possible, Spock’s face became even more icy and blank than normal.

Jim narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t suspicious of Spock. It was a common accusation that Vulcans faced when confronted by those the Terran Empire tread upon, particularly the aliens who had known the logical species. Before the faithful day of First Contact, before the brief combat and invasion that had followed, before the Vulcans had surrendered after two months in exchange for greater autonomy and rights rather than face a years-long battle they knew they would lose. It was an even better deal for the Terrans. The advanced tech and knowledge they gained from the Vulcans had raised them to the status of cosmic conquerors in no time.

Jim wondered what Spock would say if the Captain asked what he thought of that. Probably ‘it was logical’. But did he believe it?

Jim turned on his heel, facing his First Officer. “I’m giving you leave to question our prisoners to the fullest extent of your abilities. Rather that stops with telepathy is up to you.” He went to leave, not expecting an answer.

“Thank you, Captain.”

Jim looked over his shoulder. “You’re welcome.”


	5. I Have Not Winced Nor Cried Aloud

Jim stood with his hands folded behind his back and a dozen armed guards as the newly-surrendered aliens paraded before them. Their skin was a mix of pink, red, and pale purple, adorned with shining gems and gold jewelry that they threw down along with their weapons. Their hair, if it could be called that, was made up of thin, ink-black tubes that trailed along against their legs and feet as they walked with their head down. Each of them had six jewel-like eyes that were closed in shame as the Terran soldiers confiscated everything they’d had.

It hadn’t been a long battle. They’d arrived the day before, scanned and scoped out the planet, and attacked in the morning after an offer to surrender was denied. The cities, each of them spread out over hundreds of miles, more akin to a huge collection of connected villages, were devastated, reduced to little more than burnt wood and melted metal and smoke.

It was Jim’s decision to accept the At’wal’ha’s scared, desperate surrender after a few hours of constant bombardment. The Terran Empire’s usual stance was to wipe the planet clean and turn it into a colony with no proof it had ever belonged to another species. But Captains had some wiggle room in how they dealt with things, and Jim would prefer to avoid a complete genocide if he could. If nothing else, they would need labor for the waiting deposits of dilithium and benamite, and Terran prisoners only went so far.

He heard someone walk up then, and didn’t flinch when Spock joined him. The Vulcan only let his eyes linger on the trail of aliens for a moment before speaking. “I have finalized the terms of surrender with the At’wal’ha’s councilors and submitted them for your review, Captain.”

“I’ll look it over when we’re back on board.”

Spock inclined his head in acknowledgment before returning to his position as a silent sentinel at Jim’s side. Jim glanced at him more than one, wondering what he thought of the scene before them. Did he sympathize with the people they conquered, or was he as invested in victory as the humans beside him? Did he care at all, or was he as emotionless as he seemed? Perhaps he did or didn’t care, and considered only his own position.

Jim didn’t like not knowing. Worse still was the fact that he wasn’t wondering because he needed to keep an eye on potential threats, like with Sulu or Scotty. He just . . . wanted to know. And that was dangerous.

* * *

By the end of his second month as Captain, the crew had settled down, no longer attempting to kill him three times a day. They settled for a few times a week, which he figured was about as good as they would get.

It was then that they stopped at a starbase, picking up weapons and other supplies that couldn’t be easily synthesized or replicated. New officers, too. They’d lost more than twenty after Jim took the ship, and another fifteen from battles. Didn’t matter. There were always more.

They’d barely landed when Uhura announced, “Incoming transmission from the _ISS Charon_ , Captain.”

Jim only paused a moment before uncrossing his legs and nodding. “Patch them through. Everyone at attention.”

Each of them stood and bowed as an image of the Emperor appeared on the viewscreen, adorned in black-and-gold armor, stern face expressionless. “Captain Kirk.”

Jim raised his head to face her, careful not to let his feelings rise to the surface. “Emperor. To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Georgiou’s hand was wrapped around the sword at her waist. Jim had never heard of her going anywhere without it, along with half a dozen guns and a small armory of daggers. Paranoia wasn’t paranoia when it was real.

“I’ve yet to congratulate you on your new position.”

Jim smiled humbly. “I would thank you for it.”

Georgiou returned the expression. Her gaze was like having a dozen weapons aimed at him. “Allow me to do so properly. The _Charon_ is stopping at the same starbase you’re at now. You and your First Officer will join me for dinner tonight.”

Jim wanted to say no. Fuck that, he wanted to fly the _Enterprise_ to the other side of the galaxy and never come back.

But you couldn’t run from the Empire. His crew would turn on him in about five seconds. If he survived even _that_ long, he’d be chased to his death, probably about ten minutes later. No, there was no running in their world. Only standing and fighting.

“I’d be honored.”

* * *

It was something of a tradition for the Emperor to ‘welcome’ new Captains. A good chance for her to scope out the new meat, dig under their skin and see what weaknesses they had or what they might be willing to do with all the power of the Emperor before them, close enough to reach out and take. Only an idiot would try, of course, but it was more than a little tempting.

Jim made a trip to sickbay before he did anything else, leaving Spock in charge of the bridge. He winced as Bones jabbed his neck with hypo after hypo of pain dampeners and anti-poisons, muttering, “Better fucking come back. I’m not getting taken out just ‘cuz you decided to mouth off in front of that cunt.”

“Your concern is heart-wrenching.”

They shared a quick glass of whiskey for luck and Jim left, his guards following him to the transporter room before stopping outside. He went in alone, seeing that Spock was already there. Each of them stood ready to go, the only ones doing so. Spock looked tense, even for . . . well, _him_.

“I assume you’re ready, Commander,” Jim said in a clipped tone, his nerves showing more than he wanted them to.

Spock simply nodded, not even bothering to add a ‘yes, Captain’. Well, at least he wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to be there.

Jim looked forward, unblinking. “Beam us down.”

* * *

The _ISS Charon_ was the single largest, best armed, and most grandly appointed ship in all of the Terran Empire. It was the size of a small city with seventeen decks, a prison, and thousands of officers and foot-soldiers. The super-mycelial reactor in the center glowed like a sun, almost too bright to look at. Jim made sure he looked.

The Emperor’s Hall was a golden room with two lines of Starfleet officers in perfect formation leading to the giant throne at the head of it all. Jim walked with Spock close behind him, the Vulcan’t presence oddly comforting in the unfamiliar space. Like an anchor he could center himself around in the raging storm.

He stopped about ten feet from Georgiou, right at the head of the double lines of soldiers. Arranging his face into something recognizable as solemn, he went to his knees and bowed, pressing his forehead to the floor. Beside him, Spock did the same.

Both waited, Jim’s shoulders tensing when he heard the Emperor’s shoes tap the floor in front of them, lifting his eyes enough to see her legs walk into view. She stopped inches from him. “Rise, Captain Kirk.”

Jim could feel his heartbeat as he did just that, Spock dutifully staying in place. Georgiou was close, too close. He was certain he could feel the warmth of her body, see the mocking glint in her eyes, the smirk curling around her lips, and _this woman helped murder his father_ —

Georgiou smiled as she crossed her own chest. She didn’t bow — the Emperor bowed to none — but the rest of the officers in the room did, their simultaneous movement audible. Their arms were still up when Georgiou lowered her own and spoke. “Welcome to Starfleet, Captain Kirk.”

* * *

Dinner proceeded in the sort of awkward silence that could only exist amongst people who hated each other and knew it.

“I must admit, James,” Georgiou said after finishing her bowl of soup, finishing off roasted strips of Kelpian in front of two serving slaves of the same species, “I was . . . surprised when I learned of your advancement. I had not thought that _you_ would be the one to rid us of Christopher.”

Jim was almost startled to hear Pike’s first name from her lips. That had always seemed like something that belonged to himself, Winona, and Number One. She didn’t deserve to even _know_ his name.

He took his time chewing to formulate an answer. “He let his guard down. I took advantage.” He shrugged, the gesture more casual than he felt. “Nothing more to it.”

“I hadn’t thought you would have it in you. Without him you likely would have died on the _Kelvin_.”

The fact that Georgiou had apparently thought of him gave Jim pause, but he moved past it. “Well, the past doesn’t matter, does it? Only a few hundred years ago, Terran countries waged war against each other to make themselves dominate. Now we’ve united towards a single goal: our own power. Nothing else is important.”

The Emperor did not have to like him. She never would. But she needed to think that he was more useful than threatening. Useful could be humiliating, but it would keep him alive. Everything else came second.

After a long moment, Georgiou smirked, sitting back slightly in her chair. “I agree with you completely.” There was something insidious about her smile. Part of that was just how Terrans smiled, but no, there was something more. She stood, gesturing to a door, which opened immediately. “As is tradition, I have a gift for you.”

Spock saw before he did. He _felt_ his First Officer grow tense beside him as a Vulcan woman walked in, eyes lowered to the floor as she came to stand before Jim. She looked like a typical, if pretty, representative of her species. Carefully-cut dark hair and eyes contrasting pale skin that was tinged green in the sickly yellow light. Her clothes were plain in comparison, a dark grey shirt with matching pants and slippers. The silver collar around her neck was decorative. He knew it was the neural inhibitors implanted in her neck that would keep her in line.

Jim couldn’t help it. He glanced at Spock, searching the harsh lines of his face for any hint of emotion. He found it in the way he gripped his fork, knuckles white.

When he turned back to the Emperor, she was smiling openly, victory in her eyes. He wanted to kill her then, to knock Georgiou to the floor and strangle her to death with his hands. Instead, he thanked her and returned to dinner.

* * *

The ride in the turbolift seemed to take longer than was possible, both of them staring forward stoically. It took a while for Jim to force himself to speak. “She wanted to piss you off.”

“So it would seem.”

Jim looked at him under his lashes before facing the wall again. “The Emperor thinks I’ll do something awful to her ‘gift’, and you’ll betray me.”

“Given the Emperor’s history of behavior, that would be a logical conclusion. Although I believe she expects a more drastic reaction from me given my history with T’Pring.”

Jim frowned, a small divet between his brows. “You know her?”

No one else would have noticed the tightening of Spock’s shoulders of the way he folded one hand over the other to hide the way he clenched it. “As children, T’Pring and I were . . . betrothed. This arrangement was broken when her family was implicated in plans of treachery against the Terran Empire and its leaders. I was not aware of what became of T’Pring until now.”

Jim could not help staring at him. Blood boiled in his veins as his vision turned red. He knew that if the Emperor stood before him then, he would not hesitate to kill her, no matter the consequences.

He grabbed Spock’s wrist, causing the Vulcan to turn to him with confusion in his eyes. When he spoke, Jim’s voice was low and dark and _angry_. “Listen to me, Spock: she’s going to die. I’ll kill her. I don’t care how long it will take, or what I have to do. I will _kill_ her, for you and me.”

From anyone else, it would have seemed like an empty, impossible promise. James Kirk did not make empty threats. As far as he was concerned, Georgiou had signed her death certificate twice — once when George Kirk died, and again today.

If Spock were honest, he wasn’t sure why Jim cared so much. Criminal Vulcans were sometimes punished with slavery, and Terrans were a cruel, manipulative race.

But he believed him. Against every teaching of Surak, against everything he knew about humans, he believed his Captain.

Trusting that the human would not understand the significance of the gesture, he curled his fingers over Jim’s hand and wrist, binding them together, if only for a moment. “Thank you, James.”


	6. Fire and Impalpable Ash

Jim twisted to the side, moving into a spin as his opponents closed in on him. Glinting orange figures, neither Terran nor human, moved on either of his sides. He held the makeshift pole he’d chosen as his weapon, smacking them away, but not doing enough damage. His arms and shoulders were almost painfully tense, dark brows pulled together in a frown. He panted, favoring his left leg as though it were injured . . .

When his opponents moved in for the kill, he dove forward, falling between them and pulling hard at the knees of the one on the left. It fell, and he pushed it into the hologram’s partner. When they fell, Jim smacked the pipe across both of their heads, keeping them there long enough for him to stand up and beat them with it, aiming for the necks and skulls and spines—

His comm activated, a still voice coming through. “ _I am outside Holodeck 1, Captain._ ”

Jim stood up straight, panting slightly, but not from exertion. “Computer, end program.” The holographic attackers faded from existence, leaving Jim alone in the room. “Enter.”

The door slid open, allowing his First Officer to step inside. Jim nodded at him in acknowledgment, picking up a bottle of water and taking several long draws before speaking. “Did you bring the documents I asked for?”

“Of course, Captain.” Spock removed a small black device from a discrete pocket on his black-and-blue uniform, similar to the one Pike had used months ago. He pressed his thumb down on one side, making it emit a quiet, shrill noise for ten seconds before stopping. Spock’s eyes softened slightly, a movement unnoticeable to most people, but Jim had spent enough time with him to know he’d relaxed some. “All recording devices will be stalled for approximately thirty minutes.”

“Good.” Jim sat down on a bench, looking up at one of his only loyal officers. “Did you contact your parents?”

“Affirmative. They are . . . suspicious.”

Jim snorted. That was _definitely_ an understatement. He didn’t blame them. What reason did a random human Captain have to help a random Vulcan slave?

“However, they have agreed to send a shuttle to retrieve T’Pring once she has escaped.”

“How are they gonna disguise it?”

“Merchant ship.”

That made sense. Vulcans were one of few species who were allowed to engage in trade, if highly restricted. It did mean the _Enterprise_ would have to fly close enough to a port or starbase for it not to be suspicious, but it was manageable. “I’ll arrange it.”

It wasn’t a complicated plan. Jim would discover T’Pring’s ‘betrayal’, and a transporter would serve to leave her stranded in the cold vacuum of space. It was a standard method of execution on the Empire’s starships, leaving mutineers and traitors to suffocate or freeze to death.

If everything went right, they would end up serving a very different purpose.

Spock inclined his head respectfully. “Thank you . . . James.”

Jim shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.” If pressed, Jim would say that he helped T’Pring because Spock and his family were valuable allies and it was in his interest to do them a favor. It was a good excuse, almost enough to fool himself.

Spock seemed content to let it be for now. “If that is all you want, Captain, I will return to the Science Lab—”

“Spar with me.” The whim came to him without warning. He’d seen Spock in battle, probably a dozen times now. Jim knew that he was fast, strong, methodical, relentless. His mother once said that Vulcans were like the volcanoes they took their Standard name from. Sure, they might seem cold, quiet, _dormant_. But they were warriors once, and there was fire under the surface. One wrong move, and you’d learn that the hard way. Jim wanted to know what it was like to have that fire directed at him, if only for a moment.

Spock seemed at a lost, not sure what answer Jim wanted. “I do not—”

“I’m not gonna punish you for kicking my ass. That’s not what this is.”

A beat passed before Spock asked, “If I may ask . . . what is it?”

Jim shrugged. “I’m bored. The holos aren’t _solid_ enough, they don’t give me much of a challenge. I’ve seen you fight enough to know you _can_.” And maybe he wanted to feel Spock’s body against his own, know the strength of those steady hands and watch his eyes shift in concentration. That was not something anyone needed to know.

Spock gave in then, nodding slightly. Which from him, was an enthusiastic yes. He stopped to remove the thick uniform jacket, giving Jim a short moment to enjoy the slow movements of his hands. He left it on a peg besides Jim’s yellow-and-black one. The dark undershirt he wore stretched over his chest and arms, subtly showing off his muscles.

Jim dragged his eyes away so he wouldn’t be caught staring, and rolled tape around his knuckles. “Weapons?”

“I would prefer none.”

Jim acquiesced, putting his metal staff away on a rack of weapons. They stood in the center of the room, golden lights casting a glow on the black walls and floor. Spock’s face seemed even more sharp-cut than normal. Dark hair against pale skin, the harsh lines of his cheekbones contrasting painfully human eyes. Sometimes Jim thought he was more a work of art than a person.

Jim struck first. Fist to the solar plexus, causing his First Officer to dodge, turning around and pulling back. They circled each other, each looking for weaknesses they wouldn’t find.

At first, Spock stuck to the defensive. He seemed wary of actually _hurting_ his Captain lest Jim throw him in the brig. Or worse, promote Bones above him.

But there had to be some way to get under his skin, and Jim was sure he could find it.

“Bit slow today, Spock? Not quite feeling up to it?”

“Certainly not, Captain. I merely find it illogical to attempt to cause serious injury outside of a real fight.”

“Sure it’s not just your human blood making you sluggish? All that red and green mixing together in your veins—” he managed to cuff the back of Spock’s neck, whirling away before he could hit back, “—making a mess of your head. Does it make you angry?” He tried to dive forward and pull Spock’s leg out, but he was pushed back, close to being thrown against a wall. _There it is._ Those all-too-human eyes didn’t seem so emotionless now. “That you’re always one step away from some human deciding you’re less trouble dead, and no one would do anything about it? That your mom leads the same sort of campaigns that conquered Vulcan? That you fight for people who would just as soon see you in chains?” There was a divet between Spock’s straight eyebrows, showing his frustration. He was moving faster, hands tense. Jim smirked. “Would you be obedient for me then, Spock? If you were mine, would you do everything I said and stay on your knees in front of me all day and suck my c—”

 _That_ seemed to do it. Something snapped inside Spock, and he threw himself into the fight, teeth clenched as he lands hit after hit on Jim’s face and chest and stomach, dodging blows as though it were nothing. Jim returned his energy with a manic grin. It was a relief, the feeling of being beaten almost to a pulp and fighting back. A release. Spock was beautiful when he fought, stern and methodical. Not a single movement was wasted. He was entirely logical, if not more than a little pissed off.

Jim couldn’t pull his eyes away. It didn’t take him long to pick out patterns to his fighting style. He could usually tell what Spock was going to do next, even if it didn’t always help. If Jim was lightning, swift and unpredictable, Spock was a hurricane on the horizon. You knew it was coming, you could see it a mile away, but you couldn’t stop it. You’d be lucky to get out of its way. In the end, you could only wait and see if you survived.

Jim did make it to the end of the fight, even if the air left his lungs when Spock toppled him to the ground. The Vulcan’s hands tightened around his wrists, impossibly strong. Spock’s weight settled over him, knees on either side of the Captain’s hips. Jim stared up at him, and Spock stared back. There was fire burning in Jim’s stomach, burning through his lungs and his heart. They were close. Not close enough. He wondered if it could ever be enough.

Suddenly, Spock rolled away, eyes wide before he brought his expression under control. “Captain, I . . . I apologize—”

Jim jackknifed up, grinning in a way that would make anyone who saw question his sanity. "Next time we spar together, we should be on a team. The Holodeck has some good programs for that.”

Spock didn’t have an answer. After a few seconds, he just nodded, not wanting to rouse Jim’s anger _or_ his excitement. In Terrans, both were dangerous.

They sat there for a while, neither speaking nor making to leave. It did not surprise either of them when Jim broke the silence. “I shouldn’t have said those things.” He was surprised to find he genuinely felt bad about it. If someone else had said that to his First Officer, he’d have thrown them into a booth for disrespect.

“You were attempting to provoke a reaction. It is my fault that you succeeded, nothing more.”

Jim tried to smile, but it was a pathetic effort. Everyone knew that humans broke everything they touched. Jim was no different, he never had been.

But sometimes he wanted to be.

“What do you want, Spock?” The question is quiet, almost aching. “You’re Vulcan. Hell, even being half-human, you can only actually go so far in Starfleet. You didn’t make yourself Captain. You fight in the Alpha and Beta Quadrants, doing the same things humans did when you could have been—” He stopped, no longer sure what he was even trying to say. “What do you want?”

For a minute, he wasn’t sure Spock would even answer. When he did, his tone was low and monotone, hardly any different from normal. Yet . . . “Vulcans are not supposed to want.”

Jim caught his gaze. “But?”

“. . . But I want to aid my people. To improve our standing in the Empire however possible. To create a place for myself. Is that not what you want?”

The question startled him, more than it should have. Jim’s voice was harsh when he answered. “Does it matter? It won’t happen. I’ll live the way Terrans do: short, angry, and bloody. There’s no place for me, no people. When the time comes, I’ll die the Terran way too. Alone.”

Spock tilted his head, curiosity leaking into his eyes. “Does that upset you?”

Jim stared past him to the wall, unable to bear those dark eyes on him. “. . . I don't want to be alone.” It was probably the truest thing he’d ever said.

Spock nodded once in understanding. They were sitting close to each other, legs touching. Jim let his hand drift so his fingertips brushed over the Vulcan’s knuckles. The touch seemed more intimate than it should have. He wanted more, but it wasn’t his to take. Not if it wasn’t offered. For now, this was enough. This closeness. This strange, simple feeling. This was what he wanted.


	7. Too Hot the Eye of Heaven Shines

It wasn’t his fault.

Really, it wasn’t. Love, trust, loyalty . . . such things were so rare in their world that, once found, they were clutched with obsessive need. They choked the life from their own emotions because they didn't know how else to hold them. They didn't know how to touch something without breaking it. They fell hard and fast. Their relationships were often as short-lived as they were passionate, which they were, violently so. Jim was no exception, he never had been (and he had the scars to prove it). They probably lost as many people to poorly-managed emotions as they did to _actual_ battle.

So it didn’t necessarily _surprise_ him when he spends more time thinking about Spock than conspiring against Marcus and the Emperor, or looking out for new areas of space to explore and take. It wasn’t even unexpected. And yeah, he tried to ignore it at first, hoping it would fade away. Because he’s wanted people before, but it never ended well. He couldn’t imagine now would be any better. Hell, considering Spock was literally a Vulcan — cold, emotionless, and with every motive to want to take Jim’s place for his own — even _contemplating_ a relationship was a bad idea.

So, he ignored it. He threw himself into his work with an intensity that even the Admiralty had to admire. He fought resisters, stole alien tech and weapons, blew countries and settlements to bits. When there was nothing else to do, he even dared to spend time with his crew, learning about their scientific and engineering projects, arm-wrestling soldiers in the rec room to a cheering crowd, sharing drinks with Bones and any officer brave enough. It was actually . . . nice.

But it wasn’t enough.

* * *

Sometimes, occasionally, they had days like this. Days where they observed and surveyed unpopulated planets rather than conquering new civilizations or putting down rebels. Days where no fights broke out on the ship and there were no assassination attempts.

The newly-discovered planet was far past the edge of Empire territory, a dip into uncharted space. Jim stood on a beach looking up at the alien sky. The three suns were almost unbearably hot, but he didn’t mind. He’d always liked the heat.

“There appear to be no sapient lifeforms inhabiting this planet,” Spock said, walking up behind him from where he’d been directing the Science Officers. “There are no major mineral or energy deposits that would make it a priority. However, it appears to be primarily made up of tropical and temperate climates, making it ideal to live in for the majority of Empire species, including Terrans.”

“Pleasure planet?”

For a second, he was pretty sure Spock was going to smile. “Possibly. Alternatively, its position and the lack of claims make it ideal for stations and bases servicing ships on deep-space missions such as our own.”

“No reason it can’t do both.” The sand was pale blue and shimmery. The water was so dark that it was practically ink-black a hundred yards out. “I kind of feel like swimming.”

“I . . . do not think that is advisable.”

“Does that mean you won’t join me?”

“Yes.”

“Boo.”

That time, he actually did get a smile, even if it only lasted half a second and he might have imagined it.

* * *

The thing is, he’d never been very good at wanting. He couldn’t help it. He was always wanting _more_. He wanted love from his mother and brother and dead father. He wanted freedom from pain on Tarsus. He wanted revenge against Georgiou and to make a name for himself. He found something he wanted and pursued it with a single-minded determination that not even most Terrans were capable of. And relationships were no different. It was just that he was better at getting into relationships than holding onto them. Gary Mitchell and Gaila could have testified to that if they were still alive.

So yeah, it probably wasn’t a good idea to fuck his First Officer. If only because he thought they might be something like friends. He kind of wanted to see where that would go. Oh, it would definitely be nowhere good. But it might be interesting.

* * *

Jim removed his air mask as the neuro-gas finally filtered out, leaving his officers the only ones standing in the welcome hall. He toed the body of the ambassador, a seven-foot-tall alien with freckled blue skin. “Well, I consider this diplomatic mission a success.”

Uhura chuckled, knocking over the body of a dinner guest and taking their place at a long table. “They’re pretty trusting this side of the galaxy.”

“I doubt they will make that mistake again,” Spock said shortly, still standing with his hands behind his back as he’d been since unleashing the toxic gas onto the dinner party.

Jim smiled crookedly. “Was that a joke, Commander?”

“Merely an observation of fact.” Spock stepped over the fallen body of the queen alien to make his way to Jim. “I am going to complete a sweep of the building to ensure no one survived if you would like to join me, Captain.”

Jim almost said no before thinking about it. Sweeps were usually completed by the security teams, but Spock was paranoid enough that he often joined them, especially since neither he nor Jim really trusted Sulu. But he usually didn’t bother Jim about it until his report afterward . . . which meant there was something he wanted him to see.

“Be right there. Uhura, comm the ship and tell McCoy to have everyone checked in case they breathed in the air.” Just enough to seem like a real request, and it would keep them busy for a while. “Let’s go, Mr. Spock.”

The palace they’d been inviting too was a winding tower, hundreds of feet tall, but so thin there were only a few rooms on each level, if that. It would take the security teams a while to finish searching the entire place, but Spock didn’t bother keeping up the charade, leading Jim down to dark, crowded rooms underground. The aliens on this planet were even more light-sensitive than the Terrans, and Spock had brought a flashlight to help them see.

Jim looked around curiously. “What is this?”

Spock’s fingers trailed along a pane of glass set into a wall, bringing it to life. It looked like a viewscreen, about the size of a small holovid back on Terra, but Jim recognized the images it lit up with. “Security system?” He could see the dining room they’d been in earlier, now filled with Starfleet officers stripping the bodies that filled it in search of anything valuable. “Oh, that’s a nice ring. I should make Chekov give it to me later.”

“Certainly. However, that is not the point.” Spock turned a small metallic dial, showing what looked like a prison, buried somewhere in the tower. There were more than a dozen dead guards lying on the wooden floors, but three living prisoners remained, crowded into lattice-work pens. Spock paused a moment to let Jim take it in before speaking. “Select target: all Yokaiyan prisoners.”

Thin white lines appeared around the people on screen, almost glowing. “Targets selected.”

“Eliminate.”

Before Jim could even blink, one of the prisoners disappeared, zapped by an invisible weapon. Dust drifted in the air where they’d sat. The other two didn’t even have a moment to react before they were gone too, vaporized and drifting through the still air with none the wiser.

None but them.

“We don’t have anything like this,” Jim said quietly, contemplating the possibilities.

“It appears that the guard who was supposed to be manning this device died before they were able to retaliate. I secured the room and disposed of the body as shown.”

“So no one else knows about this?”

“Affirmative.”

Jim leaned back, considering. “How many people do you think it would take to get this back to my quarters without anyone else finding out?”

“Five.”

“Well then, pick five engineering officers you don’t like and bring them in.”

* * *

It took a few hours to detach the field from the building without compromising the delicate system, but they got it eventually, hiding it in one of the shuttle-bound crates used to bring the crew’s spoils onboard. Most of them were filled with whatever precious metals or interesting tech they could find. Normally both went straight to the Empire, but Jim preferred to distribute the money amongst his crew like Pike used to. The old Admiral used to say that a Terran Captain needed three things to survive their crew: respect, fear, and love. Jim thought that was aiming a little high, but they were less likely to kill him if they thought the next guy wouldn’t pay as well. That was close enough.

He had the box taken directly to his room after everything was on board, not so unusual when items were still being divvied up and handed out. Spock was standing beside him, back to the door, as Jim looked through the crate. “This is everything?”

“Yes, sir,” one of the five engineering Ensigns answered. “We were very careful.”

“Good job. Mr. Spock?”

Both of them had their phasers out and had already started shooting before the others knew what was happening. Twenty seconds later, Jim said, “We’ll have to hide this before I call security for the bodies. I don’t want anyone else to know about this, so it’s gonna take a while to even get it hooked up.” He looked up, startled to see Spock so close. “Can I expect your help?”

“Naturally, James.”

He smiled, leaning forward on his knees. “Then let’s get to work.”  
  



	8. A Series of Interludes

_Second Officer, Chief of Security, Lieutenant Commander Hikaru Sulu_

“What are you doing here?”

The man stopped in his tracks at the sound of the security chief’s imposing voice, looking up. A beat passed before he moved into hurried action, backing away from the table and crossing his chest, head bowed. “Lieutenant Commander Sulu. I— What can I do for you?”

Sulu narrowed his eyes as he stepped further into the room. The man, a junior science officer judging by his insignia, was the only one in the science lab. Padds were piled haphazardly around his work desk. In front of him was the thing Sulu had come to see.

“Are you working with this?” Sulu nodded to the plant that dominated the room, contained by a glass dome. Dark green stems were decorated with teardrop-shaped leaves and blue flowers, similar to orchids. Beautiful, although he would never say it out loud.

The science officer nodded. “Yes, sir. Commander Spock asked me to take data on it—”

“During Delta shift? Without anyone to oversee you?”

“I . . .” The man seemed nervous. Smart. Sulu found he made a lot of people nervous. They were usually the ones who had time to fight back. “I am a Lieutenant, sir. I’m authorized to work alone on projects of my choosing.”

Technically true, but he doubted many people would spend that freedom on flowers. “Specialty?”

“Xenobiology and xenobotany.”

 _There it is._ This was probably fun for him. “Tell me about this.” He stood across the work table, drawing nimble fingers down the glass. “I’m curious.”

He was sure the guy wanted to say something like ‘why?’ or ‘please leave me alone forever’, but that wasn’t an option. Instead, he pulled over one of the padds, fingers fiddling awkwardly. “It’s just a sample we took from Neerua III. It’s, uh, it’s a parasitic flower. Grows on large trees, sometimes wounded animals, and absorbs their nutrients through the roots and stems. The people on Neerua used it as a torture method for prisoners. Commander Spock wants to analyze it as a possible weapon for the Empire.”

Sulu watched him as he spoke, the other man gradually gaining confidence as he settled into what was familiar to him. The sight was . . . not a bad one. “What’s your name, Lieutenant?”

“Um . . .” The awkwardness returned as he was reminded of the situation. “Ben, sir. Ben Jung.”

* * *

_Communications Officer, Lieutenant Nyota Uhura_

Nyota had always known she was going into Starfleet. From the time she was old enough to know what the Terran Empire was, she knew what she wanted to be. She came from a long line of Captains, Commodores, and Admirals. Her childhood was spent preparing for the day she went to the Academy. Her mother spent years filling her head with stories of past battles, languages from all over the Alpha and Beta Quadrants, fight patterns, and martial arts. She signed on as soon as she was eighteen rather than wait for them to draft her three years later. And she’d been fighting ever since.

The academy was its own challenge. Four years spent learning the ropes and gaining experience before she could even start her five years of service. That was the easy part. The hard stuff was dealing with her fellow students, especially as a woman. She was forever fending off her family’s enemies or male cadets who considered her a vulnerable target. _Idiots._ Nyota never had a problem handling herself. When she gained a reputation for it, other female students would ask for her help in fending off unwanted suitors. Her answer was always the same: a sharp knife and plenty of darkness. She made a lot of friends that way.

The _Enterprise_ was her first assignment. She might have joined one of her cousins or aunts’ ships, perhaps even joined her Commander sister on the _Destiny_. But favoritism was something she refused to indulge herself in. Her victories had to be her own, not given to her. And if she ever wanted to be a Captain, it wouldn’t do to kill her own family just to get a ship.

She joined just a few days after Pike’s death. The _Enterprise_ was meant to be Starfleet’s new flagship, and she couldn’t have chosen a better maiden voyage if she’d wanted to. She danced with the idea of killing James Kirk herself, but it was too soon, he was too wary, looking for threats. Not to mention it didn’t exactly go well for those who tried.

Nyota spent a lot of time watching him, looking for a chink in the armor. The academy had taught her the importance of gossip, and she kept an ear open to her fellow officers. There was constant talk about their new, young Captain, and she wasn’t deaf to the way it changed, shifting from bets on how long he would last to jockeying for position as Captain’s woman or being impressed over his technique in a fight.

She supposed it wasn’t surprising. If love was an impossible thing in the Empire, respect was not. Kirk was smart, a good leader, a vicious fighter, and he didn’t torture or rape his crewmembers. There really wasn’t anything else they could ask for.

Nyota didn’t particularly mind her position. There was plenty of time for a command of her own later. For now, she indulged in her secret passion. Days were spent deciphering alien languages and code, using the information to find the best spots to attack, the biggest weaknesses to exploit. Each new language became familiar to her tongue, joining her repertoire. There were moments when she thought she could do this for the rest of her life . . . but no, that was impossible. This was the Terran Empire, and the only thing in her future was power.

There was nothing else.

* * *

_Chief Medical Officer, Lieutenant Commander Leonard McCoy_

Dr. Leonard McCoy downed his glass of whiskey in one long drink, not bothering to look at the bartender when he said, “Another.”

“It’ll go on your tab—”

“Then fucking put it on my tab!” His voice was practically a growl, shoulders slumped as he wallowed in his own misery. He felt he was _entitled_ to that misery. It had been an incredibly shit year. To think that three years ago, he’d been so happy he’d thought it would never.

The thought made him laugh, not caring when people looked at him. _Fate’s a bitch._ When Joanne had been born, it was the happiest day of his life. He knew he would do anything to protect her. Now, Jocelyn had taken his baby girl, but he could still protect her.

“Long day?” someone asked, a twentyish-year-old man with blonde hair, blue eyes that looked like they _had_ to be from colored contacts, and an annoying grin.

Leonard scowled. “Why do you care?”

The man shrugged. “Just curious. You look like someone ran over your puppy.”

He laughed painfully. “That would just be the cherry on top of my shit sundae.”

All it took was another drink before he was pouring out his life’s story to that stranger, honestly shocked he was even still coherent by that point. To be entirely fair, that year hadn’t exactly been the _start_ of his problems. Those had begun the year before when things became tense between him and Jocelyn. At first, Joc had seemed perfect. They met when Leonard returned to Georgia after spending five years as a medic in the Terran Army. That alone had been hellish, but Joc was also coming home after her service in Starfleet as a navigator. Leonard was impressed that she survived. Jocelyn had a doctor kink. In hindsight, that was not enough to build a relationship on.

“She took my little girl,” Leonard moaned painfully, the stranger nodding in commiseration in between ordering more drinks. “She took my daughter, my house, my practice, everything but my bones. Her parents are lawyers and they paid the judge off. I’ll be lucky if I ever see Jo again.”

“She sounds like the worst.”

“She _is!_ ” They clicked their glasses together before downing tequila shots.

“And that . . .” The man frowned before remembering what he was about to say. “And that lead you here . . . _how_?”

Ugh, right. Because the bar is on the way to the shuttle station, which both of them are headed to in a few hours so they can go to the Starfleet Academy. And Leonard didn’t _want_ to go to the academy. They weren’t even forcing him to go. But there was just one thing in the universe he would be willing to put himself through it all for, and that was his daughter.

There were not a lot of ways to be exempted from service in the Terran Empire. _Technically_ you had to be of sound mind and body, but the medical advancements of the past three hundred years meant that almost everyone qualified for the latter, and they had a _very_ loose definition of _sound mind_.

But there was one other way . . . and it was basically paying them to leave you alone. Usually this option was reserved for the families of government officials, military leaders, and the rare rich Terran. Leonard was none of those. And Jocelyn was from a proud family of Starfleet officers, so she wasn’t going to pay up. Hell, she’d probably make sure Jo chose to go to Starfleet whether she wanted to or not.

But he’d done the math. Good doctors were rare in Starfleet, most people more concerned with moving up the ranks than actually doing their job well. An experienced doctor would only need three years at the academy to learn about xenobiology before their service. If he was good (and he was, he knew he was) the pay would be better than if he tried to start a new practice on Earth. Room, board, and food would all be courtesy of whatever ship he was stuck on. If he scrimped and saved and _somehow_ stayed alive for fifteen years, Jo would never have to worry about fighting for her life or killing people who’d done nothing to her. She could keep her soul.

It wasn’t really a _good_ plan. The odds were against him. But he didn’t really care about that. Just Jo. If she could avoid this fate, it would all be worth it. And if it wasn’t . . . well, what did he have to lose?

“I wanna say . . .” The blonde man was definitely drunk by then, slurring over his words and laughing randomly. But he managed to get it out. “I wanna say you’re a good dad, Bones. Didn’t know . . . didn’t know they made them that way. It’s good to see.”

And he wasn’t sure how he felt about the nickname, but the alcohol had made him warm and open. It also seriously impaired his motor skills. When he tried to pat James’s shoulder, he missed and ended up half-punching someone walking by. Afterward, when he had a black eye and a busted shoulder and one hell of a headache, he vaguely remembered James laughing while slamming a chair on someone’s head. And while Bones didn’t remember anything else of the fight, he was grateful the kid was on his side at least.

* * *

_First Officer, Chief Science Officer, Commander Spock_

“Live long and prosper, sa-mekh,” Spock said, the Vulcan words almost strange on his tongue.

“Peace and long life, Spock,” Sarek said in return. Both of them lowered their hands. Part of Spock wanted to keep his ta’al formed, the reminder of his culture keenly felt. _Kaiidth._ He would have to meditate later to help suppress these things.

His father’s face was perfectly blank when he asked, “Are you faring well?”

There were many questions hidden in one. Was Spock healthy? Safe? Did he believe the crew’s favor was turning against him? Had more people tried to kill him than normal lately? Was his progress in Starfleet adequate? Was he experiencing un-Vulcan emotions?

It was the last of these that gave Spock pause. “I am . . . adequate.” Not technically a lie, but close. In most ways, he was as well as ever. There was only one thing that had changed.

James Kirk.

Spock had not had terribly high hopes when Pike expressed to him that James would take his place as Captain. He did not seem particularly different from any other Terran — vicious, irreverent, ambitious. _Illogical._ However, the past months had shown that he had other traits that Spock could appreciate. Intelligence, bravery, ingenuity. They were traits that Vulcans found appealing in a mate—

 _Rai._ He could not allow these thoughts to continue. It was bad enough that he could not help thinking of the Captain when he was in the same room. Doing so while speaking to his father was unacceptable.

“How fares mother?”

“She is well. The Emperor plans to send her on an incursion on Qo'noS. She will want to speak to you before departure.”

“I am aware. I will com her at the appointed time.” He waited a moment before continuing. “And Vulcan?”

Sarek mirrored his hesitation. “T’Pau believes that the Emperor may be open to expanding the Council’s rights in exchange for further contributions from the VSA to Starfleet.”

It seemed unlikely to happen. Yet . . . “It would be illogical to wish her luck.”

“Agreed. Your mother has done so anyway.”

“I expected as much.”

If Sarek were human, he might have smiled. Instead, he asked, “Is there anything to report of your new Captain?”

Spock stilled for just a moment too long. He knew his father could tell, but there was no helping it. “He is an acceptable superior.” That did not begin to explain his thoughts of Jim. The strange, but not unwelcome feeling he had when they first met. The warmth that subtly edged its way into his mind in the Captain’s presence. The fact that he had smiled to James three times so far, each time as unexpected by himself as by Jim. It was . . . disconcerting. It had become necessary to mediate an additional 1.368 hours each day to accommodate these new thoughts. Regardless, they eluded his control. At night, he found himself entertaining imagined scenarios. James’s tanned flesh, firm under his touch. Their hands pressed together, James’s mouth on his. Their minds joined together, intimate in a way no human could imagine—

“You must not allow him to affect your control,” Sarek said cautiously. “Logic is what guides us, not emotion.”

Spock nodded once in understanding, holding his hands below the screen so Sarek could not see his hands, clenching painfully. “Affirmative.”  
  



	9. Of Fire and Ice

Jim pulled his First down behind a fallen, broken-down shuttle as phaser fire rang out around them, gritting his teeth when one beam cut a little close before they were fully hidden. “Fucking Klingons.”

Things had gone south on Amanda Grayson’s mission to Qo'noS had gone dangerously south when it was discovered that the Klingons had allied with, of all people, _Romulans._ Now _that_ was a pairing he’d never thought he’d see. More than half of the army forces had been lost in an hour, and it became necessary to send a starship to bail them out. And who better than James Kirk, Captain of the new flagship of the Empire whose First Officer was Amanda’s own son?

Jim flinched when another shot blazed over their cover. _Fucking Georgiou._

Things had been going well at first, but a new Romulan weapon had fucked with the targeting on the _Enterprise’s_ phasers. Their photon torpedoes and long-range cannons weren’t precise enough to fire from the sky without also wiping out the Terrans they were meant to save. Normally, he wouldn’t particularly care, but Spock’s mom was down there, and Jim still enjoyed living (shocking, he knew). But the result was that they had to put together a rescue team to go dirt-side if they wanted a chance of actually getting anyone out.

Too bad they’d been caught.

“Not everyone is getting out of this,” Jim said quietly, clutching his phaser as though he were still a child just learning how to protect himself.

“Indeed.” Spock’s hands were splayed on the dark ground, his voice unconcerned even though he’d lost his own phasers and his eyes flashed at every noise. They were sitting so close, arms and legs pressing together, that his warmth seeped into Jim. Something about that was comforting. He wouldn’t be on his own this time.

Jim handed his Commander the spare phaser he kept on him before saying, “Let’s give ‘em a good fight, at least.”

Spock shifted in place, graceful and fluid, ready to pounce. “Affirmative, Captain.”

They waited three more seconds, planting their feet underneath them and gathering their strength before springing back into battle. They started out side-by-side, Spock’s subtle movements signalling each new attacker before Jim’s eyes caught up. They stormed through the field of fallen ships and weaponry, shooting down the Klingon soldiers, immediately obvious by their height and armor.

Jim couldn’t help it. He grinned, heart thumping as he surrendered to the thrill of battle. It was even better with his First. Jim was all fire in a fight. Spock, icy logic. They shouldn't have worked _._

But they _did_. Hell, they did so much better than work. With Spock by his side, he felt like he could take on the universe and win. Part of him wanted it to be just the two of them, always, alone in a dead universe so no one could tear them apart.

He grabbed Spock by the hand to wrench him out of the way of a bat'leth, throwing his own double-sided knife at the ridged forehead in return. That was a good sign. They were low on fire and ranged weapons. If he could rally his crew, all they’d need was one good push and they’d be home free—

Suddenly he was being pushed to the ground, hearing a sharp intake of breath as a shot sounded above him. His heart stopped.

The body on top of him tensed before relaxing all at once. He recognized it as Spock at the same time the Vulcan pushed himself up, a low sound that Jim vaguely recognized as a growl emitting from his throat. Before Jim could even sit up straight, Spock had run and leapt forward, wrapping himself around the back of the Klingon who’d attacked them.

Jim watched, enraptured, as Spock bared his teeth and used the poisoned knives he kept hidden on him to attack their enemy’s exposed face and neck. When they broke from the force or fell to the ground, he dug his fingers into the open wounds, forcing a high-pitched screech from his victim.

Jim was so transfixed that he barely even noticed when he started to move himself, running to Spock’s aid. He grabbed hold of the chest armor for leverage, pulling the head down so he could dig his own dagger into the delicate flesh at the neck, his phaser ignored at his waist. Dark pink-red blood poured over their hands as the Klingon fell forward, growing quiet as death took them. Jim’s lips curled into a dark smile as he turned to his First.

His face fell when he saw the dark green spot spreading over his chest and shirt. _Blood._ Spock stood still for several seconds that stretched into an eternity before falling forward. Jim caught him, hands curling around his back and neck as Spock fell unconscious in his arms. Panic overwhelmed him, filling his throat and head, as he scrambled to take out his comm and make himself speak. “Scott, beam me and the Commander up, now.”

“Captain, what about—”

“ _Do it! Now, that’s an order!_ ”

. . . “Acknowledged.”

Light circled them as they returned to the relative safety of their ship. Jim lowered both of them to the floor, Spock’s legs giving out as Jim pulled him into a lying position. People were asking questions, demanding to know what happened, but Jim ignored them, standing back up and holding his hand out until someone passed him a phaser. “Take the Commander to sickbay and tell Dr. McCoy that I want him to _personally_ attend to Spock’s condition however he can. If I come back and something’s happened to Spock, I will hold _everyone_ here and in the infirmary responsible.” Before anyone could even respond, he steadied himself, activating his emergency battle helmet and raising his phaser. “Send me back down.”

* * *

He didn’t entirely remember what happened after that. A red haze filtered over his vision as he threw himself back into the fight. His muscles burned and ached from exerting themselves. At some point his helmet had broken, ripped off and apart, but it hadn’t stopped him. Blood filled one of his eyes. He would only realize later that it was his own, pouring from a deep gash over his eyebrow. As for the rest of the blood covering his hands and clothes, that was anyone’s guess.

By the time his security team brought him back to the ship, they’d cleared the entire area without ever firing from the _Enterprise_. His crew gave him a wide berth, silently electing to handle the debrief later. He didn’t see anyone on his way to sickbay, which was good since he might have smashed someone’s head into the wall just to work off some of the angry energy that was still bubbling inside him.

Bones did a double-take when Jim walked in, waving away the other medics as he walked over. “What the hell did you do with their blood, James, _bathe_ in it?”

“No, but that’s a good idea.” He smacked his friend’s hand away when he tried to use a medical scanner on Jim’s face. “Where’s Spock?” He saw him as soon as he said, the Vulcan lying still in a biobed on the far side of the room. Jim immediately made his way over, Bones quick on his heels. “What happened to him?”

“Took a shot in the chest. Would’ve killed him if he was human. Luckily for him, his heart’s where his liver ought to be.” Bones shook his head. “ _Vulcans._ ”

Jim thought back to the fight. Spock had pushed him out of the way, taking the shot. It would’ve been straight to Jim’s heart if he hadn’t done that. He would’ve died.

 _You keep saving me._ Why? No one had ever wanted to protect Jim.

He swallowed, tearing his eyes away from his friend’s prone form. “What’s going on now?”

“ _Now_ , he’s in a healing trance. Vulcan mind trick. Only thing we can do is step back and let him heal.”

“That’s not _enough_ ,” Jim bit out angrily.

“It’s the best thing for him,” Bones snapped back, the only person on the ship who dared to do so. “And the best thing for _you_ is to captain this ship and not get caught panting after your pet Vulcan like a begging dog.”

Jim seethed, but he knew the doctor was right. Now was _not_ the time to show weakness, if such a time even existed. “Give me a minute. Alone.”

Bones pursed his lips, but nodded, stepping into his office. Jim wanted until the door slid shut before he finally relaxed, feeling the ache in his limbs, the way his legs burned. He knew he was a mess, covered in blood and viscera that was not his own, and some that was.

Spock was worse. His face was deathly pale, more so than usual. A medic had cleaned away the green bloody dirtying his face and chest, but the large bandages covering freshly regenerated-skin seemed worse somehow. His uniform had been replaced by a plain white shirt and pants that made him look even more like a ghost. This way, he seemed stripped of his strength, his defenses. Jim shouldn’t have been looking at him like this. Like he had a right.

He checked one more time that there was no one around before slowly reaching out a hand, tracing the lines of Spock’s palm and fingers. He shivered, skin tingling happily. “You’re gonna be okay. I promise.” He squeezed Spock’s hand before suddenly letting go, straightening his spine. “That’s an order.”

He looked at Spock one more time, hoping he would suddenly wake up fine and ready to return to the science labs. He didn’t.

* * *

Jim wiped away the sweat on his forehead, repressing a sigh. Qo’noS was probably one of his least favorite planets. Vents from the webs of underground volcanoes kept the surface warm. The air was dense and, today at least, _painfully_ humid. He almost envied Spock, still laid up in sickbay while more than three-quarters of the _Enterprise_ had been forced dirtside. The original excursion had proved more difficult than expected. General Grayson had requested ( _ordered_ ) they stay to ensure that the area was secured, but so far, there hadn’t been much fighting. Plenty of tension, though. They couldn’t seem to run out of that.

“Captain Kirk.”

 _Speak of the devil_. Jim turned to face Amanda, nodding in acknowledgment. “General.”

Amanda came to stand next to him, look out over the perimeter. They were stationed at the edge of a mountain, with a secure radius of about a kilometre. Jim hated it. Even without the intricate cave systems that rested in the mountains and under the surface, he felt exposed, like the Klingons were going to attack without warning any second now. They’d set up shields and had 24/7 security guards and patrols, but still . . .

“Do you have an estimate on how long we’ll be here?” the General asked, eyeing him with open curiosity. Her eyes were so like Spock’s, large and dark and human.

“We think a week, but without Spock to consult, that’s pretty much a guess. We’ll know more once the survey of the surrounding area is completed.” The city was largely abandoned after months of bombardment, but it was a cultural and military center, and the Klingons were eager to take it back. Their job was to make sure that didn’t happen.

“I’ll have to talk to the Emperor about assigning a permanent security force here. My men aren’t equipped for a mission like this.” She looked at him from the corner of her eye, the stars and medals on her uniform coat glinting in the sunlight. “We believe there were scouts last night while we were setting up, but no one was caught.”

“My security chief briefed me. We doubled the guards in all areas deemed vulnerable, and shields are at a hundred percent.” It was grating to have to answer to someone again after months in command, but he was determined that everything should go smoothly.

Amanda nodded, seeming satisfied with that. Silence fell for another minute before she asked, “And where is my son?”

There it was.

He supposed she wouldn’t have any (legal) way to find out. Starfleet made it a point not to release any sort of medical information about their officers until they were declared dead, since they considered personal information a weakness to exploit. Amanda had probably tried to contact Spock a dozen times before deciding to ask him.

Jim checked to make sure no one was listening in before answering. “He was injured in the fight a few days ago. He’s in a healing trance now, but my CMO says he’s going to be fine.”

Amanda closed her eyes for a moment before letting out a breath. “That is . . . acceptable. Thank you, Captain Kirk.” She looked like she wanted to say something else, but didn’t.

They passed another minute overseeing their crews before they heard something, shouting on the other side of camp. Both immediately reached for their phasers, thinking the same thing.

One of Jim’s navigators, a fresh-faced Russian kid with a thick accent, ran over to him, breaking through a throng of officers and soldiers to get there. His eyes were wide as he pointed to one of the science officers’ tents. “Keptin, I came to get you! Zere vas an assassination attempt in one of ze tents!”

They really had to get that kid an accent coach.

“One moment, General,” Jim said coldly, taking his phaser out as he followed the Ensign. Normally, breaking up fights in the crew and handling the aftermath of deaths was Sulu’s job, but as long as they were on ground, security would be too busy handling the perimeter. It was a recipe for disaster, and he imagined one was cooking now.

A small crowd had already gathered in the lab tent when he got there, jeering at the two men, both of them science officers. Everyone shut up when Jim came in, glancing at him as he stormed into the middle of the circle. Jim stared at his officers. One of them had an expression that was a mixture of fear, apprehension, and relief, and the other just seemed peeved. Sulu was standing next to the former, staring darkly at who Jim assumed was the attacker. Jim wondered what the hell his Second Officer was doing there before deciding he didn’t care that much.

Jim sent a sharp look at both of them. “What the hell happened here?”

“Lieutenant Greene attacked Mr. Jung, Captain,” Sulu explained, still shooting Greene dirty looks. “I believe he hoped to gain control of Mr. Jung’s research. I am perfectly capable of handling this—”

“Don’t bother,” Jim said, voice hot with anger as his hand snapped out and grabbed Greene by the collar, dragging him to the door. “Everybody, outside! NOW!”

Greene tried to twist out of his grip as everyone followed them outside, but that just pissed Jim off more. He hit the back of the Lieutenant’s head with the butt of his phaser until he finally shut up.

Jim threw Greene onto the grey ground as a crowd grew around them, a mix of his crew and the General’s cohort, watching curiously. General Grayson was amongst them, hands held behind her back as she kept her eyes trained on them. Jim ignored all of them, returning his phaser to his belt. Greene had a brief moment of hope before Jim brought his boot down on his face, hearing the cheekbone crush under him.

A high-pitched scream tore its way from Greene’s throat, so painful it hurt even Jim’s ears as the crowd laughed and cheered him on. He ignored all of them, lowering himself so he was on top of the Lieutenant, his weight keeping the other man’s thrashing legs in place. Jim felt himself grow angrier as he laid into him, putting more force into every hit than the one before it, holding Greene’s head in place with one hand as the other punched him again and again. His blood boiled in his veins as the onlookers quieted. He finished by holding the man’s skull and beating the ground with him, the bone and blood and flesh becoming a disgusting pulp on the dirt.

When the fire cooled enough for him to stop, Jim looked around, breathing hard. Everyone was staring at him with apprehension, eyeing the splatters of blood on his face. Jim dragged himself up, standing for everyone to see. His blue eyes seemed darker than space when he spoke. “I do not _care_ about your rivalries or petty ambition. I do not _care_ if you fight while we’re on the ship. I don’t even care if you kill each other.” He pointed above them, Qo'noS's single moon fading in the green sky. “But when we are in _enemy territory_ — when we have lost men to Klingons and Romulans, and we’re on their doorstep — when _each and every one of us is at risk_ , I EXPECT you to present a _united front!_ I EXPECT you to put all of that _bullshit_ aside and _not_ make it _EASIER FOR THEM TO KILL US OFF!_ And if for some reason you’re too stupid do that—” he stomped on what remained of Lieutenant Greene’s skull, reducing it to a dark and bloody mess, “—then you can share the fate of your friend here.”

Everyone was silent as he looked out on them, a few nodding while others stood completely still, hoping not to draw his attention. All of them looked at him with a new light in their eyes.

Jim wiped blood from his face, merely succeeding in smearing more of it on his cheek. Suddenly, he felt very, very tired. “I’m gonna take a shower. Sulu, you’re in charge. Defer to the General if need be.”

“Certainly, Captain.” Despite himself, Sulu had the smallest of smiles when he nodded his assent. Behind him, Ben Jung stood, quickly bowing to Jim when he passed. General Amanda gave him a considering look before smiling at him too.

He really didn’t know how to handle any of that.

It was all he could do to beam up with two of his personal guards and walk through the halls of the ship, scowling deeper and deeper whenever a member of the skeleton crew passed by and looked at him in shock before hurriedly bowing and moving on. Which happened far too often considering how many people were actually on board at the moment.

He left his guards outside when he walked into sickbay, desperate for a washcloth to get the warm, sticky blood off him. “Bones, where’s a—”

“James.”

Jim paused in the doorway, staring. Slowly, he smiled. “Spock.”  
  



	10. T'hy'la

“You have no idea how much it pleases me to see you well, Spock,” Amanda Grayson said, her voice slightly stilted by the unusual display of affection, but genuine enough that even Jim could see it.

Spock seemed even more uncomfortable with emotion than his mother, but he nodded once, saying, “I am also pleased to see you, even if our meeting is cut short.”

Amanda smiled, and Jim could see even more similarities between her and her son. Their eyes and lips were similarly shaped, and the corners of her mouth gently pointed up in the same way Spock’s did when he was amused or so pleased with something he just couldn’t help it.

For a moment, it seemed like she would reach out to Spock for a hug . . . but her eyes slid to Jim, standing behind his First Officer in the corner of the room, and she restrained herself. “Hopefully it’ll be longer next time.” To Jim, she said, “Thank you again for coming to our aid, Captain. As I understand it, you personally gave the Klingons quite a fight.”

Jim forced himself to smile. “It was our pleasure, General. Other opponents don’t challenge us enough. Hate to let my men get lazy.”

Spock accompanied them on the way to the transporter room, walking slightly behind them. When Amanda stood ready to beam down, she held up her hand in a ta’al. “Live long and prosper.”

Spock returned the gesture, and the traditional parting that accompanied it. “Peace and long life.”

 _Peace._ For some reason, Jim couldn’t shake the word from his head.

* * *

Soon, they were back in warp, moving further away from Qo’noS. He’d hoped that the confusing emotions the trip produced would be left with it, but . . .

Jim spent only as much time on the bridge as he had to before making an escape to the observation deck. Streams of light intermingled with the darkness before the windows. He’d never appreciated the view before, but it was bright and kind of mesmerizing.

He might have stood for hours with only his personal guards for company if Spock hadn’t come to find him. Jim only had to listen to the quick, calm steps for a few seconds before determining who it was. He turned to the guard standing a few feet away from him, quietly saying, “Give us a few minutes.”

The Lieutenant lowered their head in respect before backing away, waving to their comrades to leave, sonic-locking the door behind them so no one else could get in.

They were alone.

Spock came to stand beside him, neither of them properly looking at each other. “You did not answer your comm. Mr. Sulu requires your presence on deck 3. There is a situation—”

“I’m glad you’re okay.” It was lie pulling teeth just to get the words out, but once he did, he couldn’t turn back. “When you were hurt, I wasn’t sure . . . thought we lost you for a second.” _Thought **I** lost you._ “I would’ve razed Qo’noS to the ground if we did.”

“I am . . . gratified by your concern, although it was not necessary. Vulcans possess superior healing—”

“Still. Good to see you back on your feet.”

A beat passed before Spock nodded. “Thank you, James.”

Jim smiled, looking back out on the vast endlessness. “Later, after your shift is over . . . come to my quarters. We’ll catch up on ship business since you were out for a few days.”

Spock nodded. “Certainly, Captain.”

For some reason, ‘Captain’ didn’t excite him the way it usually did.

* * *

Spock arrived precisely on time, having come straight to Jim’s room after Alpha shift ended. The door shut behind him, locking itself. “You wanted to see me, James?”

Jim was staring out a window for the second time that thing, back to his First Officer as he spoke. “Jim.”

Spock tilted his head, frowning slightly. “Sir?”

“Sometimes, people I care about . . . call me Jim.”

A long pause passed. Then, “Very well, Jim.”

The simple word was like poetry to his ears. He no longer questioned his decision.

Jim turned around, walking up to Spock until they were breathing in each other’s air. The Vulcan stiffened ever-so-slightly, but didn’t move, seeming more curious than upset. “Sir?”

Jim shook his head. “No, don’t call me that, not when it’s just you and me?”

Spock’s dark eyes bore into his, searching. “Jim?”

Jim stood still, trying to make himself speak several times before it worked. “If you want me to stop, just . . . just say so and I will, immediately." He wanted desperately to do this right, wanted it more than anything, and he wanted Spock to want it too.

“Stop what—”

Jim suddenly reached his hands up, cupping Spock’s face and running his thumbs over those sharp cheekbones. “Is this okay?”

Slowly, enough that Jim feared he made a horrible mistake, Spock nodded.

They stared at each other a moment longer before one of Jim’s hands took hold of Spock’s, pressing his pointer and middle finger against Spock’s matching fingers. _Ozh'esta_. A Vulcan kiss. It had taken a lot of reading just to find that out, but it was worth it for Spock’s sharp intake of breath, the way his pupils dilated the smallest amount. “And this, is this okay?”

“Yes, Jim.” Spock’s voice was fraught with something neither of them recognized.

Jim moved slow, as though Spock were a deer that might be frightened away. By then, they were close enough that when he spoke, his lips moved against Spock’s surprisingly soft cheek. “And if I wanted to kiss you properly . . . would that be okay?”

This time, there was no hesitation. _“Yes._ ”

So he did, crushing their lips together and cradling the back of Spock’s neck with one hand. At first the kiss was so hard it hurt, pushing against each other as Jim tried to replicate previous experiences. Jim paused, wondering why it didn’t feel right, before softening the motion, making it slower and gentle, melting into Spock rather than fighting him.

Gripping each other painfully tight, Jim’s hands on Spock’s neck and shoulder, Spock’s on his waist, they paused, pressing their foreheads together as they breathed. “This . . .” Jim said haltingly, almost afraid to speak lest he break the moment. “This is good, right?”

His entire body relaxed when Spock nodded. “Yes, Jim. This is . . . exactly right.”

* * *

Later, they lay in Jim’s bed together, both of them leaning against the headboard. Spock’s arm was wrapped over his chest, holding him close as Jim pressed soft kisses to his fingers. _Soft._ The idea was so foreign, but he couldn’t get enough.

Jim looked back at him, smiling. “Your hair is all . . . messy. I didn't know it did that.”

Spock tilted his head curiously, causing a loose strand of hair to fall over his eyes. “Neither did I.”

Jim chuckled, nuzzling the Vulcan’s neck. _God, am I **cuddling**? How the mighty are fallen._ “I’ve never . . . it’s never been like this with me before. Feeling this way. I didn’t know it could be like this.” Sure, he’d been in relationships before, mostly with humans and a few times with aliens, but not like this. Nothing compared to this.

“I have a theory.”

“Hmm?”

“When we first saw each other in Admiral Pike’s office, I . . . felt something. A telepathic connection I did not believe possible at first. At first I thought that there was something wrong, but after researching Vulcan bonds, I found something that I believe to be the solution.” Spock carefully pushed Jim away, shifting until they were turned towards each other in the bed rather than one on top of the other. “I believe we are _t’hy’la_.”

Jim frowned, rolling the word over on his tongue. “ _T’hy’la._ ” It sounded right. “I like that. What is it?”

“It is a type of telepathic bond, so rare that even most Vulcans do not believe it exists. It is typically translated to Standard as ‘friend, brother, lover’, but that does not accurately capture the complete meaning. The closest human equivalent would be what you call ‘soulmates’.”

 _Soulmates?_ He knew he should scoff, laugh, tell Spock to get out and he’d see him on the bridge. He didn’t do any of that.

“So this . . .” ( _Rightness, wholeness, perfection, the way it was meant to be_ —) “ _feeling_ I get, is some kind of Vulcan mind trick?”

Spock frowned slightly, an expression only visible in the minute movements of his eyes and brow. “No. Not the way— It is not something I did to you, nor am capable of doing. It is rather something that happened to both of us. We are . . . compatible.”

The corner of Jim’s mouth hooked up. “Universe sanctioned compatibility?”

Spock returned the smile with a minuscule one of his own. “Yes.”

“Does that mean you love me?”

Spock’s smile softened, imperceptible to anyone who wasn’t Jim. “Yes, Jim. I love you.”

Jim only thought about that for a moment before leaning forward to press a kiss against Spock’s soft lips. “I love you.” It felt right to say it. Felt _true_ , in a way that nothing else was. Like their own tiny part of the universe, a star plucked from the dark and summed up in three words. _Four, actually._ T’hy’la. He’d never liked a word so much. “Say it again.”

“I love you.”

Jim shook his head. “The other one.”

It took a second for Spock to decipher his meaning. “T’hy’la.”

Jim placed his hands on Spock’s firm chest, pushing him down on the bed and straddling his waist. “Again.”

Spock’s hands curled around Jim’s thighs, pulling him closer at the same time as he sat up, claiming Jim’s lips with his own. “T’hy’la.”

Jim wove through Spock’s hair as he returned the kiss, growling under his breath. “ _Again._ ”

“ _T’hy’la._ ”  
  



	11. Oh Captain, My Captain

Spock made use of Jim’s sonic shower in the morning, earlier than Jim normally even woke up, carefully combing his hair afterward until he was the picture of Vulcan neatness. Jim watched him get ready for the day, still naked in his bed and smiling softly before he caught himself.

“Hold on,” Jim said when Spock picked up his uniform jacket, already half-dressed. (He still wasn’t over the fact that Spock had folded his clothes after taking them off last night. He was kind of in love.) He threw his legs over the bed and stood up, pulling on his plain black pair of regulation underwear he’d dropped on the floor last night before walking over to Spock. “Let me.”

He took the jacket from Spock’s hands and pulled it around his First’s shoulders, holding it for Spock to put his arms through the sleeves then pulling the front together so the seal in the front would come together. This way, they were standing close enough to feel each other’s warmth. Spock should have seemed cold — his body temperature was several degrees below that of a human — but to Jim, he seemed almost burning hot.

“Don’t know. Just kind of wanted . . .” He didn’t really know what he was doing. It was almost painfully _domestic_ , and he liked it, but he also didn’t have the first clue what to do next. “I don’t know.”

Spock stared at him, his expression returned to its careful, icy control, before reaching a hand out to Jim’s face and pulling him into a kiss.

Jim tensed for a moment before conceding the moment, his fingers falling against Spock’s jaw, feeling the surprisingly soft hair of his beard. By the time they broke the kiss, he was smiling, feeling simply, purely, _happy_ for what felt like the first time since he was a child. “I’ll see you on the bridge, Commander.”

“Of course, Captain.” Spock didn’t exactly smile, of course, but his eyes seemed lighter, and his mouth wasn’t held in a thin line.

It seemed like a good start.

* * *

Jim really didn’t know what was supposed to happen next.

He kind of expected that by the time he woke up the next morning, everyone on the ship would know what he and Spock had been done. Maybe they’d smell it on him, or someone had managed to slip a camera in past his meticulously put-together security system, or they’d just _sense it_ somehow.

What happened was that Spock checked the computer to make sure no one would intercept him on the short walk back to his room. They went to the bridge separately, Spock already standing at the science station when Jim walked in with his guards. His eyes were carefully glued ahead of him as everyone on the bridge team saluted and he sat down in his chair, only relaxing somewhat when no one was looking at him.

“Captain, we have orders from the Empire,” Uhura informed him, seeming none the wiser of the earth-shattering change in his life. “We’re to report to the Delta System and put down a rebellion that’s arisen in some of the Terran colonies.”

Jim nodded once, looking ahead. “Acknowledged. Chekov, take us into warp. Sulu, have our weapons system prepped and the crew ready to fight if we have to. Spock—” His voice caught for a single instant in time, not long enough for anyone to think anything of it, but he noticed, and he knew Spock did too. “Make sure all the tech and experiments onboard are secured and prepare the Science Officers for a possible fight.”

Spock inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. “Affirmative, Captain.”

Spock didn’t stand closer to him than normal. He didn’t brush Jim’s hand with his on the way off the bridge. There weren’t even any subtly smoldering looks.

Jim kind of wished there were, though.

* * *

“I just don’t get why someone would _want_ to do a mind-meld.”

Spock paused his review of the crew, looking up at Jim with a slight frown visible in the crinkle of his pointed brows. “I was not aware we were having such a discussion.”

Jim shrugged, standing idly by the screen in his room, alternating between looking at Spock and looking at the stars. “I started reading up on Vulcans. And relationships. I don’t know, it’s dumb now, but . . .” He shrugged again, kind of amazed by how out of his depth he was. _Emotions. I always knew I’d be my own downfall._

“It is not dumb. I am . . . grateful for your willingness to learn about this.”

Jim smiled for a moment before returning to what he’d said. “I just don’t know why you’d want someone in your head like that.” In the Empire, Vulcans’ telepathic abilities were put to work questioning and torturing prisoners; most Starfleet ships had at least one Vulcan on them for just that. Jim had seen Spock use a meld several times before, on Romulans, Klingons, and even the species they met on first contact. It didn’t exactly seem like a present process.

Spock seemed to follow what Jim didn’t say. “There is a difference in melds used on prisoners and those between partners. The former is intended purely to gain information and cause pain, and is done without mutual consent. The latter is a joining of equals. If we were to engage in a meld, we would be able to feel each other’s emotions. I could access your thoughts and memories, but I would respect your boundaries.” Spock stood and walked over to him, holding out a hand for the ozh'esta. Jim reluctantly returned the gesture, pressing their fingers together. “I would not violate your mind, Jim.”

Jim stared at their hands, not daring to raise his eyes to Spock’s. At some point, his shoulders had tensed. He forced himself to relax and clasped his hand with Spock’s, pulling his First back to the bed. “We’ll talk about it later.” Spock heard his unspoken ‘ _never_ ’. He did not react. “Right now, I just want to feel you the human way.”

* * *

Jim dragged Spock out of the shuttle by still arms, wincing every time something shifted or let out a stream of smoke. “C’mon, Spock. You’re heavy as fuck.”

Spock remained stubbornly unconscious.

Jim finally managed to get them both out of the shuttle, dropping him down on the sandy ground of the alien planet. Jim sat beside his first officer, shucking his gold jacket as sweat began to accumulate on his face, three suns glaring down at them.

The brief survey the shuttle had taken suggested that the planet was uninhabited except for sparse species of plants, microorganisms, and a few strains of fungi. But the desert they’d crash-landed in was devoid of even those. They were the only living things in hundreds of miles.

Including above them.

Jim waited until the shuttle had stopped smoking to go back inside, quickly finding the emergency medkit he needed. He dragged the Vulcan into the small amount of shade that the shuttle created, not trusting it to hold Spock’s unconscious body. He set to work with the medkit, removing Spock’s shirts so he could examine the damage. There were dark, black-green bruises around his back and shoulders from when he’d been thrown when the shuttle took off, and an oozing wound on his neck from where he’d been nicked in the brief battle. Thankfully, the wound didn’t seem to be poisoned, but it did require micro-sutures and an anticoagulant. He just hoped Bones wouldn’t have _too_ much of a seizure when he saw Jim’s work.

If they ever got Bones back.

Or any of the crew, for that matter.

_Fuck._

By the time Spock woke up, Jim had already started repairs on the shuttle, shirtless as he worked on the core and tried to drudge up anything he’d learned at the Academy that might help. That was how Spock found him, cursing out the limited warp drive and starting when sparks flew over his face. “Oh, you _mother_ —”

“Jim?”

Jim paused, growing still before sliding out from the tiny engine space and looking up. “Hey.” He stood up and stepped over to Spock, checking his neck and chest. “How are you feeling?”

“The damage was minimal. I am significantly better.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good.” Jim pulled his hand back and smacked Spock across the face as hard as he could.

Spock reeled back slightly, raising his brows in surprise as Jim hissed and shook his hand. Spock frowned. “It seems unwise to injure yourself and your First Officer while we are—”

“Oh, shut it.” Jim sucked in a breath, his smarting hand carefully held to his chest. “Why the hell did you save me?! We could have taken them—”

“You are the Captain,” Spock interrupted. “The slavers would have killed you immediately, and all attempts at returning home will be lost.”

“Oh, because we’re doing _so_ great now!” He irritably kicked the chair in the center of the room, not caring that it made his foot ache. “We’re stranded in the desert on an alien planet that doesn’t even have a designation, my crew has been captured, the _Enterprise_ is going to be torn apart and—”

“ _James._ ” Spock grabbed his arms, holding him in place until he stopped ranting. “I brought us to this shuttlecraft because I have already installed a communication device here that will allow me to contact Vulcan. My father will send a ship to recover us.” He held Jim’s hand, attempting to offer comfort. “When we return to the Empire, you will receive command of a new ship. We need only wait.”

Jim stilled, surprised. “Oh.” We wriggled out of Spock’s hold. “You could’ve said that sooner.”

“I could not have. I was—”

“Unconscious, yeah, I know.”

Spock frowned. “Then why did you say—”

“SPOCK!” Jim snapped, irritated after long hours of difficult repairs that it turned out he didn’t need to do. He took in a breath. “Table it for now, alright?”

Spock inclined his head. “Of course, Captain.”

“Oh, don’t _Captain_ me, I’ve seen your dick.”

He sat down in the chair he’d abused, following Spock with his eyes as the Vulcan unearthed the signaling device from where it was hidden inside the shuttle’s console. Spock’s attention was trained on the thing’s screen, inputting coordinates, before he turned to look at Jim. “You are unhappy.”

Jim turned sharply, not letting Spock see his face. “What makes you say that?”

“I have known you for a year now, Jim. I am attuned to your moods and emotions.” He walked over to Jim, setting a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Your shoulders are tense. When you look at me, I can see from your expression that you are uneasy. I am only uncertain as to the cause.”

Jim shrugged, not entirely understanding it himself. He opens his mouth to reassure Spock.

“What’s going to happen to our crew?”

Spock tilted his head. If he wondered why Jim would ask, he didn’t voice it. “The species that accosted us is unfamiliar to me. They are not native to this region of space. If they are aware of the Empire—” ( _Enemies_ of the Empire; no aliens who know about the Terrans were anything else) “it is likely that all the Terrans on board will be executed at the first opportunity.”

Spock paused, waiting for his reaction. Jim just nodded once, not facing him. He wondered if Spock would care at all, if he’d feel bad about their fate or if he just thought they were getting what they deserved. He wouldn’t strictly speaking be _wrong_ if he did. The _Enterprise’s_ crew had done far worse things than execute enemy soldiers. Hell, the Empire had done worse things to _Spock’s own people_. He could hardly be blamed for any vindictiveness he might feel.

“However, if they care about profit more than emotion, all of the crewmembers will be sold. It is impossible to know for what purpose without further data.”

Jim squeezed his hand into a fist, hard enough that it hurt his fingers. Then he let go, making himself relax as he stood. “Well, let’s go. No point in wasting time.” He grabbed the small, padd-like device that Spock had planted in the shuttle, frowning down at it. “How do you work this thing exactly?”

Spock didn’t answer his question, pressing a hand over Jim’s and pushing it down. “You find my answers unsatisfactory.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“That is false.”

Jim bristled, pulling his hand away from Spock’s. Idly, he wondered if the Vulcan could feel his emotions right now, if that was why he liked touching his hands so much. “It’s _nothing_.”

“Your demeanor would suggest this is untrue.” Spock tilted his head again, as though Jim were a particularly interesting alien bacteria he was examining. “You are . . . concerned. Worried. For the crew.”

“Did you get that from reading my mind?” Jim snapped defensively.

“It is not necessary for me to access your mind. You wear your emotions for everyone to see, even when you do not intend to.” He reached out again, not reacting when Jim stepped back. “Even when you succeed in hiding from others, I see. I know you, Jim. I want to know what is wrong now. I want to help you.”

For a minute, Jim refused to react, refused to let Spock see him, even if he knew it was a futile effort. Spock didn’t try to pry the information out, simply waiting and watching. His eyes should have seemed cold, emotionless, _Vulcan_. But they weren’t. They were open, questioning, the rare best part of humanity.

 _Maybe I was doomed the second I first saw those eyes._ It was as good an explanation for any as to why he finally caved.

“My crew is _my_ crew,” Jim said, hating himself even as he spoke. “I’m their leader. I’m supposed to be responsible for them, for their safety. I’m not supposed to abandon ship while they’re captured and killed.”

It surprised him as much as Spock. Terrans were not supposed to _care_. If they absolutely _had_ to commit such a heinous sin, they kept it restrained to only a few people, close family members. Partners were passionately wanted until they were cast off, but true _care_ was harder to find. A Starfleet Captain caring about his entire crew? Laughable. The sort of propaganda they fed to their children before they became teenagers and the truth hit them.

But they were _his_ crew. His to punish, to lead, to control, and to protect, regardless of the fact that his concern wasn’t returned. He didn’t want to abandon them.

Spock frowned slightly in consideration before nodding. “Very well. What will we do?”

Jim blinked, looking back at him. “What?”

“This is an unacceptable state of events for you. It is necessary to locate and liberate our crew. How do you intend to do so?”

Jim stared at him before slowly smiling. “C’mon. Let’s get this shuttle working.”

* * *

“Do you have your ears covered?”

Spock pulled up the hood on his jacket before nodding, never lifting his eyes from the console. “I am prepared, Jim.”

“Didn’t expect anything else.” His own hands flew over the screens and buttons, serious for once in his life. “Sensors?”

A beat passed before Spock answered. “The slaver ship is in range. It is the same as before.” Another pause and he added, “The _Enterprise_ is with it. Scans for life suggest that it is operating under a skeleton crew.” He frowned. “Several of the _Enterprise’s_ systems appear to be disabled, including weapons. I calculate that there is an 89.2765 percent chance that members of the crew sabotaged them before being apprehended.”

Jim smiled despite himself. “So they _can_ do things by themselves.”

“As it seems.” Who said Vulcans didn’t have a sense of humor?

“Take shields and weapons off-line. Start overloading the warp core, we need to start it now if it’s ready on time without being detected immediately.”

“Affirmative, Captain.” Three seconds later, red lights begin flashing through the shuttle, accompanied by the emergency sirens. “Sending out a distress signal to nearby vessels. Only the enemy ship is in range.”

“Get ready.” Jim took his uniform jacket off, swapping it for one of the plain thermal ones in the shuttle’s emergency supplies. Spock had already done the same, both of them divesting themselves of anything that might identify them out as officers of the Empire. The hard part had been scraping off the Terran symbols, changing the shuttle into something resembling a transport or smuggling craft. It wasn’t much, but it was all they could do on short notice if they wanted enough time to actually get close to the enemy ship before it took off.

From there, it took less than a minute for them to be hailed. Just one sentence. _“Prepare to be boarded.”_

Jim smiled. “Start the timer.”

* * *

Jim slowly stumbled through the tiny hallway, staring at the back of Spock’s head, slightly lowered and still hooded. Their hands were restrained by some kind of fancy handcuffs that connected to a collar around their necks. There was a guard in front of Spock and another behind Jim. They were the only two, as good a sign as any that these species, though vaguely humanoid, weren’t familiar with the Empire. No Orion slaver or Romulan rebel would ever consider assigning any less than two a person.

Another advantage: they didn’t seem to know much about Vulcans.

_Eighteen . . . seventeen . . . sixteen . . ._

They arrived in the ship’s brig, sectioned off into rows of cylindrical cubicles, each just barely big enough to fit one person. Right now they were filled with crewmembers from the _Enterprise_ , around hundreds all in one room. They’d been silent when the door first opened, but once they saw who’d joined them, it was an uproar. The sound of outraged shouting and fists pounding on glass filling the room.

“KIRK!” He recognized Bones's voice, pained from alcohol withdrawal, but no weaker for it. “KIRK, YOU FUCKING _TRAITOR—_ ”

“COWARD!”

“HALF-BREED!”

“Honestly, I would have done the same thing.”

_Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . ._

“You are now prisoners of the Kevari System. You will be examined, sanitized, fitted with neural inhibitors, and transported to Kevari III for auction—”

The ship rocked suddenly, causing more than a few shouts and one undignified yelp as the prisoners slid around their containers. Jim and Spock were the only ones who stood their ground while their captors stumbled forward, and that was when Spock moved.

_One._

The thing their captors didn’t know was that for someone with impeccable Vulcan control, it was no problem to dislocate a finger and slide a hand out of a restraint. Spock demonstrated this for them now, moving so fast that he had his fingers on the guard before him’s face and was forcing him into a meld before anyone else even knew what was happening.

Just before the second guard could catch up with the script, Jim kicked out sharply behind him, grinning triumphantly when his heel made contact with the alien’s knee. It gave him the moment he needed to turn around, managing to reach forward and down _just_ enough to wrap his fingers around their leg and pull it out from under them, dropping the guard to the ground. The alien tried to pull themselves up, reaching desperately for Jim’s ankle, but Jim raised his free foot and brought it down on the grasping hand.

The guard shrieked, trying to roll away, but Jim followed, stomping hard on the head beneath him. He must have put more force into it than he meant; he felt the skull crack and fracture, and with another strong kick, blood pulsed out of the six eyes and slit nostrils. One more, and the head squished and fell apart like an overripe melon. The pale-grey body twitched painfully a few times before growing still.

Jim breathed in and turned around, unable to stop the tiny smile that graced his lips when he looked at Spock. The Vulcan was standing straight with his usual cool, emotionless expression, not wincing as he forced his finger back into place, the cuffs and collar discarded next to the other guard’s prone, dead body.

He held his hands out as well as he could. “Bit of help?”

Spock reached out to the small input pad on the bit of metal connecting the heavy cuffs, quickly tapping out the code he’d found in the guard’s mind. Jim let out a sigh when they released, absently throwing both cuffs and collar to the floor. Spock’s fingers subtly brushed over his own, the angle of his Commander’s body hiding the movement from the prisoners. _You are well, Jim?_

_Yeah. Thanks, Spock._

_Of course, ashayam._

_Ashayam._ The word lingered in Jim’s mind, but Spock took his hand away before he could ask. He turned away, returning his attention to the crew. The fight had taken less than a minute, enough time for bright white emergency lights to start flashing through the room from the captured shuttle’s explosion. Bluish-black blood decorated the pale floors. His crew stared at him with a mixture of apprehension, fear, curiosity . . . and respect.

Jim grinned. “This is the coldest reception one of my daring rescues has ever gotten.” He nodded to Spock, who turned to the panel set into one of the walls, his fingers dancing across the pad as he input the code. By the time the cells opened, the normal lights had shut off and the blasting ones had increased in speed and brightness, casting the room in alternating shades of black and white. He knew he probably looked like a madman. He didn’t particularly care.

“I just tore a bite out of their cargo bay. They’ll be worried about that for the moment, and no extra sensors were set off when you were released, and Commander Spock has all the ship’s codes. I suggest we lock the cargo bay down, grab some weapons, catch them by surprise, and teach these fuckers why no one messes with our ship.”

It happened slowly, then all at once. The crowd changed, their faces twisting and changing with the revelation that he’d come back for them. Something in the air shifted. He realized that they were _his_ , his crew and his people as they could never be Georgiou’s or even Pike’s, and he would not give a single one of them up if he could help it.

Jim bent down, finding a plasma-style gun amongst the folds of the dead guard’s clothes. He straightened, facing the ready, determined crew with Spock at his side. “Let’s go.”  
  



	12. Thy Eternal Summer

Vulcan was hot.

He’d known that intellectually, but it was different to experience it. Even when they were inside, sweat beaded on the Terrans’ foreheads. They guzzled water in between cups of chilled saya and Vulcan port. None of them wore their uniforms, but they were easily identified. They were boisterous and obnoxious even by human standards, laughing and loudly singing drinking songs that they forgot half the words to. Jim looked around every now and then, watching them with a slight chuckle.

Vulcan was always a favorite for shore leave. Apart from Earth, it was one of the places in the Empire that wasn’t a war zone in one spot or another, and there were neighborhoods in all the major cities that catered to Terrans.

They were in one such place now, a brothel in ShiKahr that Starfleet workers preferred for its relative safety and discretion. The crewmembers who’d been there before almost immediately began retiring to rooms upstairs, trailing after prostitutes who’d recognized them and wasted no time with pleasantries.

Jim had never been there before. He’d only been to Vulcan once, when his brother Sam was on leave and Winona took Jim to see him. They’d stayed in a Terran hotel the entire time, the ac blasting so hard it had actually felt _cold_. Jim got drunk for the first time and ended up vomiting his guts out into a toilet while Sam alternately laughed and brought him water.

This time was nothing like that had been. Jim was sitting in a corner of a large room downstairs with some of the others, Bones and Scotty and Uhura, although only Bones was paying any attention to him. There was a Vulcan woman sitting on his lap, T’Rel. Slim, pale, and dark-haired as so many Vulcans seemed to be, she seemed almost like a female version of Spock, though her eyes were even colder. She was looking past him, one hand resting in front of her and the other on Jim’s thigh. Her silver dress was so sheer, she was only a step above being naked, with just enough jewelry and embroidery in just the right places to be considered _somewhat_ decent.

Jim leaned forward, resting his chin on T’Rel’s shoulder. She smelled citrusy, like the sash-savas fruit Jim tried once and immediately spit out when the acidity burnt his tongue. Against the pointed curve of her ear, he whispered, “I think we can leave now.”

T’Rel nodded once, showing no change in her expression as she stood, walking away without waiting for him. Jim followed, repressing a scowl when some of his crewmen laughed or whistled at him. Bones was laughing _loud_ , his glass of Terran bourbon sloshing as he gestured wildly at his friend, slurring something that sounded ‘Spock’ and ‘green-blooded’. Jim wriggled a brow back, but didn’t say anything. They were halfway up the stairs when he heard someone else speaking.

“-tain definitely has a Vulcan fetish.”

He was pretty sure that was one of the Ensigns. And he didn’t have to hear the whole sentence to know what she’d said.

“That shocks you?” A cadet, fresh from the academy and just as brash-sounding as that implied. “Have you seen our Commander?”

“It is true that a Captain's First Officer serves them in all things,” a Vulcan voice said neutrally, a sentence that would have been an insult from anyone else becoming a mere statement of fact.

The Cadet snorted. “You think Spock’s the one serving—”

Jim wrenched himself forward, pulling his attention away so he could make the way upstairs. Here, it was surprisingly quieter than below. The rooms were all sound-proofed, although occasionally there were vibrations from the thudding of a bed on the walls. Some of the bedrooms were barely larger than closet-sized, but the one T’Rel opened was nearly as large as his quarters on the _Enterprise_. The room was Terran-style, with a four-poster bed dominating from the center and wine-red wallpaper that looked like it was made of silk or something equally fancy and ridiculous. There were a few wooden wardrobes and dressers, doubtless filled with all sorts of fun things that he would normally jump at the opportunity to play with.

 _No time tonight._ The thought almost made him pout.

If it was possible, T’Rel turned even colder when Jim closed the door, quickly opening one of the wardrobes. She took out a plain black military-style bag and passed it to him. “Your presence is expected within the hour. Dress quickly.”

Jim playfully arched a brow. “Kinky.”

No response. He hadn’t really expected one, but still.

He did as she asked, pulling the clothes out and trying not to crinkle them. The pants were plain and dark, the same Terran style everyone in the Empire wore, but made of soft and stretchy Vulcan fabric. The shirt was more interesting. Ink-black with a punched-out diamond pattern and a tall collar that was distinctly _Vulcan_. The chest had an asymmetric line similar to the folding of a kimono. It looked like it was made of some kind of leather, but when he put it on, it was surprisingly light and breathable, perfect for the hot weather. He topped it off with a traveling cloak, its hood covering his hair and ears. When he looked in the mirror hung opposite the bed, he hardly recognized himself. Hopefully it would be enough to keep anyone from stopping him on the street.

As Jim finished dressing, T’Rel pulled sheets and blankets and clothes out of the wardrobe his own outfit had been hidden in, emptying it until he could see that the back opened to the wall behind it. A door stood, open and waiting.

T’Rel stood off by the side, folding her hands behind her back and looking Jim in the eye. “Send my regards to Governor Sarek.”

Jim nodded, checking one last time that his hood was up. “I will.” He ducked his head, squeezing himself into the uncomfortably small closet space before looking back at her. “Thanks.” He closed the door behind himself and started down.

There was no tech in there, no teleport equipment or even lights to keep him from falling on his face. Rather than a staircase that would take up too much room, there was an old-fashioned ladder that he had to feel around for and risk falling off the edge of the floor. On one hand, it was smart since this way it was less likely to show up on any scans as anything suspicious. On the other hand, he’d be going out of his fucking mind if he was claustrophobic and he still wasn’t entirely convinced he wasn’t going to break his neck.

He started down slowly, callused fingers wrapping around surprisingly well-maintained rungs, and counted each step. _One . . . two . . . three . . ._

Jim was almost to a hundred when his foot brushed the ground. He hopped down, pressing his left hand to the wall the ladder was on and reaching his right arm out to the other side. There wasn’t quite enough room for him to stretch out properly, but it was serviceable. He recalled Spock’s directions — _turn right at the bottom, then straight ahead_ — and started moving. He _really_ hoped he hadn’t mixed the turns up. It was literally impossible to tell where he was going, or even see his own hand in front of his face.

Jim had been walking so long that he was starting to think he’d somehow gotten lost in a straight line when his hands smacked a wall in front of him. He let out a breath of relief as he found the handle and pulled, momentarily panicking when it didn’t budge and wondering if there was a key or something that he’d forgotten about because he was too busy staring into Spock’s eyes. Luckily, it wrenched open, and he didn’t have to worry about changing or re-evaluating any of his behavior.

It was another, thankfully brief, ladder climb to the street above. He struggled to remove the cover one-handed before emerging into an empty alleyway. Jim blinked, taking in the artificial lights. ShiKahr had grown dark with the setting of the suns, and Vulcan had no moons. The white lights that lined the roads were blindingly bright and difficult to look at, a stark contrast to the reddish-orange dirt and bronze buildings.

Jim leaned out of the alley, looking up and down the street. No one was there.

He started down his path, not going too fast or too slow lest someone see him and grow suspicious. Sarek and Amanda’s house was on the outskirts of the city, close enough for convenience, but far enough away that they didn’t have to put up with the bustle and noise of the millions of other people living there. The farther he got, the stronger the desert’s hold on the landscape. The air had started to cool, but it was still thin. He was grateful Bones had insisted on tri-ox hypos for everyone beaming down. If it weren’t for that, he’d probably have passed out in the sand by then and been eaten by some kind of carnivorous plant.

He was ninety percent sure that was how he was gonna die.

But not tonight, apparently. His shoulders were hunched and tense from suspicion by the time the Governor’s residence came into view. It was perched on a bluff with a valley to one side and a mountain on the other. A copse of trees and carefully stacked rocks amounted to the Vulcan version of a garden. The house itself was elaborately designed and built, four floors made up of sleek planes of pale wood and glass, externally connected by stone staircases. The house seemed to curve elegantly, a fascinating combination of modern Vulcan and Terran architecture.

Jim went to the front as Spock had instructed, a different type of apprehension filling him. He’d never done anything like this before. Both the attempting to arrange an important political-slash-military alliance thing and the meeting his partner’s parents thing. Whose crazy idea had it been to combine the two?

 _No point in wasting time._ He brushed off the small amount of dust that had accumulated on his cloak before gathering his bravado and knocking.

He’d barely moved his hand before the door was opening, a familiar face peering up at him. Jim blinked. “T’Pring?”

The door opened entirely, T’Pring stepping back so he could walk in. She was dressed plainly in grey robes, the type he’d seen on servants before, but otherwise looked fine. “James Kirk. I must put away your cloak. You are expected in the dining hall.”

Jim couldn’t help it. He just kept staring. He hadn’t thought of her in so long, largely on purpose. No matter how he looked at his actions, he couldn't reconcile them with himself. Why help T’Pring? Why bother freeing her at all when he could have kept her on the ship and just not hurt her? He’d spent far too much time dwelling on what he’d done before finally dismissing it and pretending it didn’t matter. It was a favor for Spock, he decided, nothing more.

Except . . .

Except it had never really been an option for him. T’Pring had been placed entirely into his care, unable to refuse him or even defend herself. Something inside him had stirred, a part of him he’d thought died with Frank. War was one thing, keeping his crew in line another. This was different. If T’Pring’s life was entirely in his hands, he could not bring himself to abuse it.

“You’re . . .” His voice cracked. Jim shook his head, forcing himself to appear calm as she slipped his cloak from his shoulders and folded it over her arm. “Are you doing okay?”

T’Pring tilted her head, curious. “I am well. Governor Sarek provided me with aid after you allowed me to escape. The Emperor is not aware of my location. Please follow me to dinner.”

And that was it. She didn’t seem at all concerned by Jim’s embarrassing display of emotion, simply leading him through the building in silence. Jim looked at her. “Do you need anything?”

“I am cared for. Your assistance has been more than adequate.” Before Jim could press, they arrived at the dining hall, the door shut before them. T’Pring stopped, facing him. She raised her hand in a ta’al. “Live long and prosper, James Kirk.”

Jim didn’t really recognize the emotion he felt when he returned the gesture. He didn’t think he’d ever felt it before. “Peace and long life.”

T’Pring’s expression didn’t flicker as she opened the door, standing back. Jim walked in.

He didn’t flinch when the door closed behind him, even though he kind of wanted to. The dining hall was dominated by a table laden with food and large enough to seat thirty or so people. Only three were there. One he only vaguely knew anything about, another he’d spoken to a few times . . . and the third was Spock.

Jim kind of wished they’d had that bond Spock had mentioned then. He could have done with the reassurance.

Before he’d even walked into the room properly, they were all standing behind their chairs, staring at him. Even Spock’s eyes seemed colder, more muted. After a pause that went on for _way_ too long, Sarek inclined his head. “James Kirk. You are welcome at our table.”

 _Yeah, I’m really feeling the love._ “Thank you, Sarek, son of T’Pau. I am honored by your hospitality.”

They sat back down in order of official rank, first Amanda, then Sarek, and finally Jim and Spock. If Jim’s movements were stiffer than normal, they didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe they appreciated it, he couldn’t tell either way.

There was a chair at the head of the table, but Sarek and Amanda sat opposite of them, an attempt as informality that didn’t translate to the way they all looked at each other. Like they all had one hand on a gun and were waiting to see who would shoot first.

“Well . . .” Amanda Grayson clapped her hands together, smiling. “We can talk later. For now, let’s eat.”

The General reached over and picked up a dish, scooping a serving of _something_ onto her plate. The tension broke. Spock and Sarek followed suit, and Jim copied them. A lot of the food was unfamiliar, but some of it was stuff he recognized from eating with Spock. He stuck to that, dishing out portions of balkra and kleetanta and yarmok, with sash-savas tea to drink. It wasn’t bad. Basically just casserole, soup, and salad, just made of different vegetables. He ate slowly, not really as much as he wanted, but enough so as not to offend.

Amanda watched him over her china teacup. He couldn’t help but return her gaze. She was incredibly _human_ , sharing Spock’s eyes and pink mouth, but little else with him. Her mannerisms _screamed_ Terran. But her clothes, the way she held herself, her effortless elegance . . . Jim wondered how she managed to be such a sharp contrast to her husband and son while also seeming to fit right in.

Amanda set her cup down. Silence fell over them as she tilted her head, smiling the traditional Terran half-smirk. She set her hands down on the table, straightening her back. “James. I remember how you helped us on Qo’noS. You’re an excellent fighter.”

“Thank you, General. Your exploits are famous across the Empire, of course.”

For some reason, her smile widened. “I believe that’s all the required formalities, yes?”

“Seems so.” Spock’s hand moved, imperceptible to the others as it came to rest on Jim’s knee. Jim didn’t react, but he hoped Spock felt his gratitude. The image of Spock filled his mind, not on the _Enterprise_ like normal, but how he was now. Certain of himself in a way he so rarely was, his Vulcan features seeming natural and expected rather than out-of-place. His knit-tunic seemed like a natural contrast to Jim’s leathery getup.

“Spock has told us a lot about you,” Amanda continued, either not noticing or politely ignoring the little moment Jim and her son were having. “Your abilities, your relationship, your . . . _ambition._ ”

Jim quirked his brow in a decidedly _Spock_ -like manner. “Is that your polite phrasing of ‘suicidal plan to kill the Emperor’?”

“If it wasn’t clear, yes. Although I wouldn’t call it a plan so much as a hopeful wish list.”

“Well, that’s why we need Vulcan. Clearly a silly little human Captain can’t be the one to plan such an important mission.” Spock’s hand tightened on his leg, as though to say _Take it down a notch_ , but Vulcan-y. “We need Vulcan’s logic.”

“And our ships,” Sarek said quietly, speaking for the first time since Jim arrived. His face was expressionless, the perfect image of Vulcan control, but there was something like a warning in his voice.

Jim shrugged. “They couldn’t hurt.”

He was pretty sure Spock was sighing at him. In his head, at least.

“If we succeed,” Spock interrupted, “all parties would benefit. Vulcan would gain an Emperor with its best interests in mind. You would be able to advance your own agenda with significantly greater success.”

Amanda arched a brow. “ _If._ ” She shrugged. “Don’t mistake me. It’s just very . . . _ambitious_. Which I like, actually. You don’t get anywhere in the Empire without a healthy amount of suicidal brazenness.”

Jim wondered what exactly constituted a ‘healthy’ willingness to throw himself into a fire. He figured he went a little above and beyond.

“I think it can be done,” Amanda continued. “ _If_ you convince us, and _if_ Sarek can convince the elders. But that’s a big _if_ for all of Vulcan to place on the shoulders of a Terran. You understand that Vulcans and humans have a somewhat . . .” She snapped her fingers, searching for a word.

“Contentious,” Jim offered at the same time as Amanda said, “Shit-awful history.” She blinked at him, biting down on her bottom lip in what seemed like an effort not to laugh. “My point is that they will not be able to rely solely upon the word of a human.”

Jim nodded. Spock prepared him. They’d expected this. Vulcans didn’t put much stock in reputation or promises. They’d want proof. _Action_. “You want to know I can deliver.”

“Not precisely,” Sarek interjected. “Spock does not doubt that you are capable, and we do not doubt him. Our doubt lies in whether or not you _will_.”

“You need to test me,” Jim said, nodding. “I’m prepared for that. What do you want me to do?”

Sarek’s eyes were unwavering, but Amanda glanced at her husband from the side. “You mistake our intentions, James Kirk. There is no mission for you to complete, nor anything of the sort.”

Through Spock’s hand, Jim could feel the things he was trying to repress. Curiosity. Wariness. Confusion. He didn’t know what his parents were planning either.

Jim nodded with a confidence he didn’t really feel. “Okay. What is it, then?”

Amanda leaned forward on her forearms, giving Jim a serious look. Something about her was oddly . . . conspiratorial. Like they were close friends plotting together rather than near-strangers. “We’ve talked about it with T’Pau, our clan leader, and she’s decided. We want to be able to know for certain that your interests are aligned with ours. It’s necessary that you bind yourself to our people. Completely. Irrevocably.”

Spock stiffed, imperceptible to most, even to his parents, but Jim felt it immediately. _Oh, I don’t like this._ “What . . . _exactly_ are you suggesting?”

* * *

The desert had cooled with the night, the sand releasing what little heat it managed to hold onto. He could feel grains of it cluttering his boots as he walked, struggling through the dunes. Spock was right behind him, occasionally reaching a hand forward and pressing it to the small of Jim’s back, either in comfort or so he didn’t slow them all down. Jim was grateful. His tri-oxides were going to be wearing off soon, and he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to make it there and back on his own.

Of course, he wasn’t sure what _there_ was.

“James,” Spock said quietly.

Jim tensed. Amanda was behind them, Sarek ahead, far enough that Jim wouldn’t be able to identify his silhouette if he didn’t know better. He didn’t think the General could hear them, but he was less certain of the Governor.

Spock’s hand wrapped around his wrist, pulling him back. “ _Jim._ ”

Jim turned to look at him, but kept walking, stumbling slightly from the awkward position. “What, Spock?”

“I would not force you to do this,” Spock said insistently. “I can speak to the others. It is not necessary—”

“It is,” Jim cut him off, taking his hand away. “We need them, right? And they want this.” He stopped in the sand. “ _You_ want this.”

Spock stared at him, barely visible even though there was a lit lantern in his hand. His eyes were dark, but Jim knew them, and he knew Spock.

Jim smiled. “Yeah, you want this.” He readjusted his cloak, blue eyes flashing his amusement. He was carefully ignoring his own feelings on the matter, and they both knew it. “Come on. I’ve done worse things for power.”

He started walking again. After a moment, Spock followed.

He could tell when they were close. Lights appeared on the horizon, small and warm, like fireflies. A dozen, at least. They grew in size as the small group moved faster, loose sand transforming into rock beneath them. The lights illuminated a group of people standing in a large, circular clearing. Vulcans, he could tell when he was close enough to make out their faces, in long cloaks and elaborate robes. Their faces were still. Stern. No one seemed particularly thrilled at the surprise nuptials, but then, Jim didn’t exactly expect them to.

There was a woman at the head of it all, sitting in a carved palanquin that was currently on the ground. The others branched out from either side of her. Her face was lined with age, but her hair was ink-black and the way she held herself was regal, strong. _The matriarch,_ Jim thought when he saw her. _T’Pau._

Her expression didn’t change when she saw them, but her eyes immediately converged on Spock. The half-Vulcan went to his knees in front of her, bowing his head. “Ko’mekh-il.”

“S’chn T’gai Spock, son of my son.” She placed her hands on Spock’s jaws, lifting his face so they were facing each other. “You have chosen to bind yourself to a Terran rather than one of your own. Are you certain that your choice is logical and unclouded by emotion?”

Spock started to nod before remembering he was amongst Vulcans. “I am.”

Jim couldn’t tell if that was true or not.

T’Pau seemed satisfied. She let Spock stand, returning to Jim’s side. A hand on the back of his waist pushed him forward, Spock’s touch allowing images to filter into his head. Slowly, Jim walked forward, mourning that small point of contact as he repeated Spock’s steps and knelt before T’Pau.

He didn’t bow his head.

T’Pau stared at him, dark eyes damning. Her fingers pressed against his temple, her mind a cool, sharp presence in his own. Jim tensed, but didn’t try to push her out. “James Tiberius Kirk, son of George and Winona Kirk. You are of Earth. Yet you choose to tie yourself to one who is half-Vulcan when your kind considers all others to be inferior.”

And Jim _knew_ he should just say ‘yes, ma’am’ and leave it. That was what T’Pau expected, and what Spock had shown him. But . . . “Spock could never be _less_ than me. I knew that from the second I met him. He is . . .” His cheeks grew heated as he tried to form his thoughts into something coherent and . . . appropriate. “He is a paragon of all Terran and Vulcan virtues, exemplary in every way.”

He could _feel_ everyone staring at him. And yeah, it wasn’t exactly the emotionless Vulcan speech that was expected of him—

“He is acceptable.”

The cold presence in his mind was gone as quickly as it appeared. Jim was still reeling from that when a hand fell on his shoulder, pulling him back up. He turned around. It was Spock, of course. Who else could touch him in a way that was so simple, yet so packed with meaning?

He let himself look the half-Vulcan over from head to toe. His tunic was neatly embroidered with vaguely familiar symbols on the neck and wrists, its high collar emphasizing his pointed ears. The fabric was pure white. Jim wondered if that was intentional.

He flinched slightly when Amanda came up on his side, his usual awareness failing him. She didn’t react, simply handing him a cup, filled to the brim with some kind of liquid Jim didn’t recognize. “Drink this,” she said quietly. A few feet away, Sarek handed his son a similar cup in silence.

“What is it?”

“Su’aasal,” the General said, her pronunciation flawless. “Used in bonding ceremonies.”

That didn’t really explain much, and Jim could tell that wasn’t everything, but it was too late to go back now. Jim raised the cup to his mouth and began to drink.

It actually didn’t taste too bad. It was pulpy, and kind of reminded him of the time he’d eaten a cactus fruit on Tarsus IV when there was nothing else. He drank it all down, feeling it settle in his stomach. When he was done, he lowered his hands, not noticing when the cup fell, breaking on the ground. He blinked, eyes heavy. Something whirled behind his eyes, not colors like he thought at first, but something . . . sensual. Wholly new and different.

His mind felt foggy yet alert at the same time. Spock’s hand against his seemed to burn with sensation, though he barely noticed he’d fallen to his knees in the middle of the clearing, staring ahead at his partner so intently that he could see nothing but Spock.

 _Spock._ The half-Vulcans emotions were beginning to leak into his mind despite the other man’s best efforts, filling him with Spock’s trepidation and half-strangled anticipation. And his love.

 _He does love me,_ Jim realized, something like shock coloring his thoughts. _Why does he love me?_ He didn’t understand it. Terrans were, at their core, an incredibly lonely species, rarely loved or loving, and trusting no one. They lived alone, fought alone, died alone.

But he didn’t want that. He wanted Spock, wanted to take this love, this warm, new feeling and wrap himself up in it and never leave. He wanted to be so close to someone that their feelings were his, to _know_ them. He wanted that with Spock. 

All his worries washed away. His anxiety over sharing his mind with another person, his distrust, his fear of losing himself, all of it was gone. His hand was connected to Spock’s in an ozh’esta before he spread fingers out so all five of them were pressed to Spock’s hand. He shivered, the sensations from Spock’s sensitive hand echoing through their connection.

Jim smiled. _I can feel you._

Spock didn’t smile, but Jim could tell that he was repressing it. _I am aware._

_You feel me, right? I’m not doing it wrong?_

_You are . . . exceptional._

Jim knew he was probably grinning like an idiot. He didn’t care. _Sweet-talker._

_Indeed._

Distantly, Jim could hear a low, steady voice speaking. “What you are about to witness comes down from the time of the beginning without change. _This_ is the Vulcan heart. _This_ is the Vulcan soul. This is _our way_.”

Jim didn’t pay much attention after that. He felt like he was floating, worse than a giggly schoolboy. Because this was Spock’s soul, wasn’t it? This clarity, this happiness, this _rightness_ he felt, that’s what it was. Spock’s soul, melded and bound with his. _T’hy’la._ The word seemed to have new meaning.

He felt it when the ritual neared its end and their minds fully joined together. It wasn’t earth-shattering. It was easy. _Natural._ They came together like they were always meant to, because they _were_ always meant to.

Spock’s forehead pressed against his. His eyes were closed, and he knew the half-Vulcan’s — his husband, his _bondmate_ — were the same. And it probably wasn’t a very proper thing to do at a Vulcan wedding, but he leaned forward, kissing him chastely, softly. The simple movement sent burning bolts of emotion through both of them, singing through the bond. Jim smiled.

Spock smiled back.  
  



	13. No Man Is An Island

Jim leaned forward with hunched shoulders, picking up his tumbler of Andorian ale and taking a long, slow drink. It felt odd, being so out in the open, but no one paid him any attention. Or at least not any more than the rest of the crooks there. It was the kind of dirty, dimly-lit, criminal-filled place he frequented constantly before (and honestly, after) joining Starfleet.

Except they were nowhere near Earth.

Unlike Alpha and Beta, the Gamma Quadrant had only had a few sparse interactions with the Terran Empire. Mostly there’d been trade, a few small raids on unprotected and un-cared for planets. A Terran this far out was weird, but not impossible, and not remarkable.

That was going to change soon.

The _Enterprise_ was enjoying a quiet month docked on G-243 while its crew scattered across the tiny planet, seeking out information, possible conspirators, any useful information. Jim had already met with his guy, an ambassador from an important interplanetary alliance in the quadrant. If he was patient, played his cards right, they’d have an easy in when Georgiou came with the _Charon_.

Jim smiled when he heard someone approaching the chair beside him, recognizing the steady, evenly-paced steps of his First Officer sitting down beside him. Jim finished his glass before looking at him. It was odd seeing Spock in casual clothes, even Vulcan ones. He was so straight-backed and emotionless seeming that he seemed almost impossibly out of place in the sleazy dive bar.

Jim found he didn’t care. He turned to face Spock entirely, smiling. “Come here often?”

Spock’s brows scrunched up. “Negative. You know that I have only been on this planet for six days, and this is the first time I have visited this precise location—”

“That often, huh? Let me buy you a drink.” He gestured to the bright yellow and spotted bartender. “Hey. Got any Vulcan saya?”

The bartender smiled brightly, an effect only partially ruined by their shark-like teeth. “Yes! I will get it now!” They scurried away to a room in the back.

Jim arched a brow. “You can tell they don’t get too many Terrans out here, or else they wouldn’t smile at us like that.”

“Indeed.” Spock nodded politely when the bartender returned with the drink. “Thank you.” When they left, he returned his attention to the Captain. “How is your assignment fairing?”

“Passable,” Jim said, mimicking his toneless voice and smirking when Spock glared at him. “It’s fine, babe.”

“. . . I must ask that you not refer to me in such a manner.”

Jim’s smirk widened. “Oh? And what would you consider preferable, Commander? Ashal-veh? Ashayam? K’diwa? T’hy’la?” He leaned in close, whispering into Spock’s ear. “Husband?”

Spock shivered, betraying his mask for a single moment before forcing it back into place. “Those alternatives are . . . acceptable.” He tilted his head. “You are unusually playful tonight, Jim.”

“Yeah, well.” Jim shrugged, stealing a sip from Spock’s drink. His face scrunched up. “Ugh, this tastes like one of those health smoothies Bones makes me drink.”

“It is intended for consumption by Vulcans. Our taste is different from yours.”

“Uh, yeah, I can tell.” He handed Spock his drink, raising his own glass and waiting for the bartender to refill it. “ _Much_ better.” They sat in silence for a minute, enjoying the relative peace and sitting closer than they would if any of the crew was around to see them.

“What if we did it for real?” Jim asked suddenly, shrugging when Spock looked at him. “Up and leave, just the two of us. _Go._ Find some backwater planet in the Delta Quadrant that the Empire’s not gonna be interested in for another century or so and settle down?”

Spock frowned at him. “Starfleet would likely spend a great deal of time attempting to track us down under the belief that you were orchestrating an elaborate plot. Our families would be arrested, interrogated, and executed. If found, our end would not be merciful.”

“Other than that.” Jim rolled his eyes. “Killjoy. It’s a fantasy. Just pretend for a minute that none of that stuff would happen. What then?”

Spock leaned back slightly, a thoughtful look on his face that suggested he was giving the idea more consideration than it probably deserved. “I am unsure. I have lived my life by the structure of the Empire. And, lately, to the Emperor’s downfall. However . . . I believe I would enjoy being a researcher.”

“Huh. Xenobiology?”

“Perhaps chemistry as well.”

“You’d be good at that.” Jim looked past him, his vision blurring and losing focus. “I don’t know what I’d do outside of Starfleet. Die, probably.”

Spock’s eyes darkened. “I would not allow that to happen.”

Jim smiled, intertwining their hands under the bar. “I know you wouldn’t.” He tilted his head back. “I could be a trophy husband.”

The corner of Spock’s mouth quirked up despite himself. “Certainly, Jim.”

* * *

“ _Fuck!_ ”

Jim slid down on the ground, clutching his abdomen under the layers of protective gear and icy fur. He couldn’t see the blood like this, but he knew it was there. He could feel it seeping from inside him and spreading across his stomach, warm and sticky. His leg ached, screaming at him every time he tried to move it. It felt . . . cracked and out of place. _Broken._ Of course. Because their day couldn’t get any better.

Spock knelt next to him, putting Jim’s arm around his shoulders and trying to lift him up. “Captain, we have to move. This area is not safe.”

“Safe enough,” Jim murmured, eyes falling shut against his will. Spock shook him, forcing them open.

“ _Jim_ ,” Spock whispered harshly, yanking him forward. Jim bit down on his lip, refusing to scream. Spock stilled. “Your leg.”

“I can’t run like this, t’hy’la,” Jim said quietly. At some point, the screams had started to fade. _Good._ Hopefully the rest of his crew had gotten away.

Spock stared at him, his face giving away nothing. He wrapped an arm around Jim’s waist, tightening his hold. “Lean on me. Do not put weight on your leg. We must seek high ground.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay . . .”

Jim hobbled awkwardly on his good leg, wincing every time Spock shifted or moved other than to walk forward. Snow blew over and around them, drying their skin and turning their faces pale, blood retreating to the organs below. Jim was shivering so hard he wouldn’t be surprised if it broke his leg worse. He knew it must be worse for the Vulcan, but Spock refused to show weakness. Not when Jim needed him.

By the time they made it to the cave that the away-team had set up camp in, Jim’s leg was entirely numb, no longer responding to his orders. Spock carefully laid him on the ground, bunching up an emergency thermal blanket to use as a pillow. Jim blinked up at him, his vision slowly coming into focus. He tried for a smile. “Hey, you.” He reached a hand out, trying to lay his fingers against Spock’s temple, but his First Officer stopped him, holding his hand.

“You are injured. I need to tend to your wounds; a meld would only distract.”

Jim shook his head. “Don’t care. Need you.”

“I need you as well,” Spock said, his voice low, vulnerable. “That is why you must allow me to help you first.”

“Hmph. Fine.” Jim shimmied awkwardly, trying to find a comfortable position as he started sinking into unconsciousness. “This kind of sucks, huh Spock?” He fumbled over his own tongue, barely understanding himself and not really caring. “I kind of love you, you know.” Spock said something back, but Jim didn’t hear it. “G’night.”

* * *

When Jim woke up again, his eyes were crusted shut and his head felt like it was filled with cotton. He could feel something warm close by, flames licking the air next to him. Vaguely, he felt the presence in his mind reach out to him, curious and concerned. He unconsciously rolled over, freezing when pain shot through his leg. “ _FUCK!_ ”

Something moved, a person, coming to loom over him. “James?” Hands pressed against his temples, broadcasting calmness. “Jim, are you unwell?”

“Um . . .” Jim blinked, finally seeing Spock above him, his dark brown eyes alight with concern. “Well, I’ve felt better.”

Spock didn’t sigh, but it _felt_ like he did. “Your leg is fractured. It is in a splint now, but we only brought emergency medical equipment. We must return to the ship if you are to receive proper treatment.”

“Uh-huh,” Jim said, nodding to show he was paying attention before the world faded again.

* * *

The next time he woke up, the pain in his leg had dimmed some, and the only light came from the fire Spock had made. The Vulcan looked golden like that, his eyes turned to amber and his cheeks and ears lightly flushed green from the cold. He was huddled on the other side of the fire, practically buried under blizzard gear and blankets. This time, he was slow to move when he sensed Jim waking. His Captain had to ogle him for a full minute before he noticed.

“James,” Spock said quietly before clearing his throat. “How do you feel?”

Jim tried to shrug, but found it difficult under all the emergency blankets Spock had tucked around him. “Better. Chopping half of my leg off doesn’t seem like the sensible answer anymore.”

“It never was.” Spock carefully stood and walked around, opening a packet of rations and handing them to Jim. “You have been deprived of nutrients since your injury occurred. It is necessary to eat slowly and reserve your strength.”

“You know you could probably cut the amount of time you spend talking in half without losing anything?” He took the ‘food’ regardless, taking small bites before scarfing it down with a hunger that surprised him. His stomach rolled by the time it was done, seeming unused to food. A sense of foreboding came over him, hanging on his shoulders and dragging along his body. “Spock? How long did you say we’ve been here.”

Spock didn’t look at him. “I did not mention it.”

Jim sat up, suppressing a wince when the bandaged wound on his stomach protested. “Let me rephrase that, Commander: _how long have we been here?_ ”

Spock hesitated before answering. “Four days, thirteen hours, and twenty-seven minutes, Captain.”

Jim stared at him. “And the _Enterprise_?”

“. . . I have not seen it above us.”

Jim flopped back on the cave floor, covering his eyes with his hands. “ _Fuck._ ” At this point, they were either assumed dead or they’d been left for dead. The _Enterprise_ wasn’t going to circle back and get them. Georgiou would see to that. And all Terrans despised weakness. His crew would be more likely to finish them off and advance in rank than _help_ them. “Why didn’t you signal for help?” Fast enough, and the _Enterprise_ might not have left them. Even afterwards, if Spock was careful and only sent out certain frequencies, they could have called on a Vulcan ship to have mercy on them.

“A blizzard struck two minutes and forty-eight seconds before the fight ended. Our sensors and transmitters are no longer working. It became clear that we must either wait for the storm to end or ascend 4.3816 miles to the top of the mountain that we are now at the base of. The storm has not eased, and you were not in a condition to make such a trip. You still are not.”

Jim turned away from him, trying to look around the cave. “What do we have?”

“Our supplies are limited. The crew took the useful equipment that they could in the time allowed. What was left behind was survival gear and rations. If they have any sense of efficiency, then new ones have already been replicated on the ship.”

“Yeah, that’s what I care about right now, Spock. The crew’s _efficiency_.” He sat back up again, this time moving closer to the golden campfire that was keeping them from turning into the planet’s most attractive icicles. “How long do you think the weather’ll hold out?”

“I cannot know without sensors. However, based on our initial survey of the planet, our supplied are unlikely to outlast it.”

Jim nodded, taking that in. “Okay. So. Up for a bit of mountain climbing?”

“Captain, you are still—”

“A weak bitch, yeah, I know. Gimme a few days, I’ll be right as rain.”

“Without a Starfleet-level doctor to assist in your treatment, your leg will not be fully functional for approximately 1.8 months.”

Jim shrugged with a forced smile. “You’ll just have to carry me.”

“You appear to be joking, however, that is not an unlikely course of events if you insist on moving quickly.”

“Don’t worry, it’ll be hot.”

“That _is_ unlikely.”

“. . . Was that a weather joke—”

* * *

Jim lurched forward awkwardly, one arm leaning on Spock, his broken leg dead weight. The wind whipped around them, turning their already chilled skin to ice. Spock was the only thing keeping them moving. Slowly, but still shuffling along. Even under a pound of thermal gloves and black fur, Jim couldn’t feel his hands. Through their bond, he could feel Spock’s discomfort, desert-raised skin chafing in the harsh cold. The half-Vulcan was slowing down, would be even without Jim to hold up.

They’d made it less than a mile when Jim pressed too much on his bad leg, letting out a bitten-off cry as he fell, sucking in a breath when his knee hit the hard rock. “ _Fuck!_ ”

“James?” Spock tried to pull him up, but Jim shook his head. His knee and leg were fucked; he didn’t think he’d be able to stand up if they wanted to. “Jim, you must attempt to move forward.”

“I _can’t_ ,” Jim bit out. He couldn’t go another step, never mind three miles. _Jesus, what a stupid fucking way to die._ To think he’d once cut a swath through Klingon rebels on Qo’noS. Now they weren’t going to make it high enough to signal anything. They were going to die there—

 _No,_ Jim thought with a sudden, peaceful clarity. _Not us._ He looked at his First Officer. _Just me._ “Go.”

Spock frowned, confused. “Jim?”

“Go without me. I’m just slowing you down.” He settled onto the ground fully, his body relaxing as he finally gave up. Spock’s hands followed him, holding his arm. “Who knows, you might actually make it without all this dead weight.”

“I will _not_ do that,” Spock said sharply, staring down at him.

Jim sighed. “Come on, Spock. Let me do this for you. For _me._ I don’t want you to die so far from Vulcan.” Despite his words, his hands clung helplessly to Spock, as though his husband were the only thing keeping him afloat in the middle of a dark ocean. He didn’t know if he could make himself let go. He didn’t want to die like this, alone and pathetic, clinging to the last traces of Spock in his mind until it ended.

And Spock knew it.

“I do not consider it an acceptable option for you, either.” He knelt down until they were facing each other. “You are my Captain, my bondmate, and above all, my _t’hy’la_. I would rather die than leave you here.”

Jim tried to move back as he felt a thrum of determination and intent that wasn’t his own burned through his mind. “Spock, I told you already, _leave!_ ” His face burned as he spoke with anger he didn’t feel. _“_ As your Captain, I am _ordering_ you to—”

Spock’s hand wormed its way down Jim’s hood, clamping around a spot on his neck. A small pinch reverberated through his body, and in an instant, the world went dark.

* * *

In moments, Spock had lifted Jim up and settled him on his shoulder, distributing his weight the best he could. It was not perfect, and the snow was already making it difficult to both walk and see straight ahead. _Kaiidth._ He would simply have to continue to the best of his abilities. Jim’s life depended on it, and so his own did as well. There was no life without Jim, not anymore. He did not want to think of what it would mean to have their minds ripped apart, of waking without the Terran sprawled out on the bed with an arm and a leg carelessly thrown over Spock’s body as he snored into a pillow. It was unacceptable, so he did not accept it. Instead, he summoned all the learning of his youth, hundreds of hours of meditation and putting Surak’s lessons to memory, and put his control and determination to the one thing that mattered: protecting Jim.

It was a long, miserable hike, worse than the weeks he spent as a child trying to survive on his own in the desert. The rocky canyons and sand dunes were his home, the twin suns bringing him much loved warmth. This cold, barren place was anathema to his kind, but he did what millions of Vulcans had for centuries now, since the day they surrendered to Khan and made Terra an Empire: he endured.

By the time he’d made it to the halfway point, he could feel himself slowing down. This planet had comparable gravity to Earth, but the terrain was rocky and mottled, the weather having a greater effect on him than he would like to admit. He had to stop several times to reorient himself. Jim’s weight on his back and shoulder was enough to keep him going, despite the illogic of it. No, not illogic. There could be nothing illogical about a fact, and it was a fact that he must save Jim.

The farther he went, the more difficult it became to continue. He no longer knew exactly how far they’d gone, nor how long it would take to reach the peak. His steps came slower and with more difficulty. The weight on his back seemed as heavy as the mountain itself. The snow blinded him. The blizzard was worsening. He wondered if this would even work now, if they’d be able to get a signal. He had to. If he didn’t—

He cleared his head of all thoughts, of anything except the drive to _move forward_. One step, then another. The altitude fogged his head, the air growing thin. Another step. More. How much longer?

He stopped when his legs and feet were too numb to respond to him any longer, falling forward into a bank of snow, Jim sliding to the ground in front of him. He had just enough presence of mind to turn his t’hy’la onto his back and cover his face so the snow did not fall upon him. Tingling fingers reached for the transmitter in his pocket, pulling it out. He didn’t have time to be careful. Already, he could feel his consciousness slipping away. The last thing he did before passing out was activate the transmitter.

* * *

“Stupid corn-fed idiot, had to go and get stranded on a fucking ice planet, of all things. Lucky that love-sock Vulcan didn’t leave him there.”

Jim gazed up at the bleary, vaguely humanoid shape that he was pretty sure was his friend. “Bones?”

“He awakes!” He felt rather than saw the medical scanner on his cheek, Bones making no effort to be gentle about it as he began examining him. “Don’t you dare die while I’m on this ship! We’re friends, so whoever takes over after you, y’can bet I’m gonna be the first one to lose his head. If I’m even that lucky!”

“It’s good to see you too.” Jim tried to sit up, and immediately stopped when it became clear what a bad idea _that_ was. “I didn’t get frostbite and lose all my fingers, right? That would be bad. Although I would look cool with one of those retro-futuristic prosthetics—”

“Sadly, you came back in one piece.”

“Damn.” He tilted his head to the side, trying to get a view of the sickbay. He didn’t know what he was looking for until he asked, “Where’s Spock?”

Bones rolled his eyes. “God help me. Neither of you is as subtle as you think.” He attacked Jim’s neck with a hypo before answering, because he was an asshole. “He woke up a few hours ago and ignored me when I tried to put him on bed rest. Surprising, I know. He’s been making sure the crew’s in order for you.”

And that was when Jim remembered the other piece of the puzzle.

He shot up in bed, shocking himself, Bones, and his put-upon body, the latter two immediately protesting when he did. He ignored them both. “ _Shit._ Bones, what the hell happened? The _Enterprise_ — who, who picked us up? Who took over the ship while we were gone? What did Georgiou do—”

Another hypo. This time, he fought the darkness threatening to overtake his mind, fought and thrashed until a gentle voice in his mind intoned, “ _Sleep, Jim. I will be there when you awake._ ”

Despite himself, he believed it.

* * *

The next time he woke, Spock was there. That might have been enough to convince him that they were still in the cave, except that the chair he was sitting in was white and pristinely clean. Spock’s back was ramrod straight; different, he now realized, from how he was when he was somewhere he considered safe, although to most Terrans there was no change.

Spock noticed Jim was awake almost before he did. “Captain. How do you feel?”

Jim smiled. “Better. Less dead.”

“That is to be expected as you are not dead.”

“Wonderful. Excellent skill of observation, Mister Spock.” Jim sat up with greater success this time, rolling his arms and feet around to get his blood moving properly. “We’re on the _Enterprise_?”

“Correct.”

Jim nodded. Well, at least they weren’t dead. He could handle the repercussions. “Casualties?”

“Eight.”

Jim frowned. “Eighteen? Eighty?”

“Eight.”

 _Huh._ That wasn’t nearly as much as he expected. “Did Georgiou find out we were gone?”

“One of the foot soldiers attempted to alert the _Charon_. Lieutenant Uhura intercepted the message and Sulu dispatched the soldier. No other harm was done.”

That . . . was weird. But before Jim could question him further, Spock stood, turning around to pick something up. “I understand that this is the typical uniform worn by a Starfleet Captain who has served for a year or longer. It was made to your specifications.”

Spock held the small bundle out to him, and Jim took it warily. The paneled black-and-gold uniform jacket was similar to his usual ones, but shining medals decorated the chest. He recognized each of them, one for his role in conquering planets he’d made first contact with, another for subduing rebellions, and another still for excellence in battle against enemies of the Empire. But apart from that, the most noticeable difference was the lack of sleeves. All the Starfleet uniforms were made of a tough, synthetic material that was impossible to cut with most knives, although it couldn’t stop a gun or phaser. They covered everything but the hands and head, perfectly designed for defense. The only people who wore uniforms like _this_ , leaving a part of themselves undefended, were people who were entirely confident in their ability to fend off any attacker. Fighters. Survivors.

“Spock—”

“You should continue to rest. Doctor McCoy said that you will be able to return to the bridge tomorrow. If you are awake, I will visit you after Alpha Shift has ended.” There was no one in the room with them, but still Spock was careful and restrained. Jim knew that was what they had to do, but sometimes he wondered what it would be like if they didn’t have to hide.

He was almost shocked when he felt Spock’s hand sliding against his. He responded automatically, wrapping his fingers around Spock’s and squeezing, a gesture that had come to be as intimate to him as a kiss. His First Officer’s eyes were soft. “Be well, Captain.”

* * *

The next day, he woke early and didn’t bother to wait for his personal guard before heading to the bridge. The _Enterprise’s_ dark halls seemed quieter than usual. He only encountered a few people on his way up from sickbay, each of them simply nodding in silence. But their heads stayed bowed longer than usual. When they looked at him, their eyes lacked the suspicion and unspoken threats that lingered in Terran eyes. It was more unnerving than if he’d thought they were going to attack him, take advantage of the weakness he’d shown and try to make a new Captain amongst themselves.

The doors to the bridge slid open for him. Despite trying to get up early for once, everyone else was already there. They stood, saluting him. He returned the gesture.

The Captain’s seat was empty and waiting for him. _Good._ It would have been annoying to have to fight someone over it. Still . . .

“Uhura,” Jim said, making the Lieutenant snap to attention. As the third highest-ranking officer on the ship, he probably should have asked Sulu, but even though he no longer looked at Jim like he was waiting for a good moment to smash his head in, he still didn’t trust him. “Who took over as Captain while I was gone?”

The room was silent before she answered. “No one claimed the title of Captain, sir. However, we followed Lieutenant Commander Sulu’s orders until Commander Spock was capable.”

Jim stared at her for a long moment before turning away sharply, looking to the viewscreen ahead. “Chekov, take us into warp.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Jim waited until he was moving before relaxing into his chair. The crew returned to their work, preparing for a new week of exploration. When he was certain no one was paying attention to him, he smiled.  
  



	14. In A Looking Glass

_2263, ISS Enterprise_

The war room was one of the few places on a Terran ship that was not only completely closed off from the rest, almost impossible to enter without the proper clearance and permission, but also entirely unrecorded. There were no secret cameras or bugs listening in. It was too much of a security risk; plans were made there, conversations held that any enemy of the Empire would kill to get their hands on. They could try to secure the information all they wanted, but at the end of the day, several emperors ago by now, they just had to accept that some things weren’t going to be heard by anyone back at Starfleet.

Or, more importantly for Jim’s purposes, the Emperor.

He stood at the head of the table, frowning with his arms behind his back (a habit he’d long picked up from Spock) as he looked at the hologram. “Let’s go through this with the new information. Commander Spock, start us off.”

Spock nodded slightly before reaching out a hand, causing the shifting red light to take the form of a starship. “The Imperial starship, _ISS Charon,_ will be docked on Earth beginning forty-three days from now for an as of yet unknown period of time as repairs and upgrades are made.” The view of the _Charon_ shifted, its exterior fading away to show the complex inner-workings of the different decks, a pale blue light shining through to signify the tangled-web that was the computer system. “Our intel does not include the exact plans; however, based on what we know from recovered logs, it is statistically probable that changes will include an overhaul of the current computer system.”

Jim raised his eyes, looking to his command team. “I don’t have to tell any of you why that’s bad.”

The others grimaced or looked away. Bones rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands, cursing under his breath. Jim didn’t blame them. If he didn’t have to keep a stoic face, he would’ve done the same, except with less ‘ _under his breath_ ’. The _Charon_ was already virtually impenetrable. It had taken over a year now — not even including the time needed for their sources on the inside to get the necessary information out — to build and fine-tune the program they planned to use that would knock out the systems making it so. To have all their work undone before they were ready . . .

“Is there any way we can move the date up?”

He could read Spock’s disappointment and frustration in the divet between his furrowed brows, in the lines of his face and dark eyes, gestures that were almost invisible to most people. “Unlikely. Nothing is in place. The General cannot yet guarantee the numbers we need, nor can the Governor.” He tilted his head, considering the math, the probability, the calculations. Jim might have kissed him if they were alone. “We will have approximately six to nine hundred thousand Terran soldiers, and three-hundred thirty-eight Vulcans.” After a pause, he added, “Transportation would also be an issue at this moment in time.”

Jim kind of wanted to smack his head on the table. Instead, he nodded and turned to his Communications Officer. “Lieutenant, what about your contacts?”

Uhura shook her head. “My sister and some of our Vulcan and Orion contacts successfully sabotaged several of my aunts’ missions. Georgiou is angry with them, so they’re scared. And you already know my mother’s given us information on the Emperor.”

Jim nodded. Admiral Uhura had been absolutely invaluable in giving them information on the _Charon’s_ unique computer systems. Not that Nyota needed him to remind her — in fact, she’d never stop smirking if he did.

“They _will_ accept an alternative if I present it well, and my sister would pledge her ship,” the Lieutenant continued, “but this is too soon, and most of them will only offer small support in ways that can’t be traced back to them until there’s a winner. If they’re on the _Charon_ when we board, they’ll be able and willing to take out the systems, but this fast, I can’t say for sure whether we’ll be able to make that happen.”

That wasn’t nothing. It would be the work of several people and hours to take down even _one_ of the _Charon’s_ systems. That ship was a fortress, and they needed everything they could get.

But it wasn’t enough. They weren’t ready, and now they wouldn’t be for longer still.

Spock sensed his frustration. It was more Jim’s influence than logic that spurred him to suggest, “Perhaps we can do something else. An element of surprise, something that will distract the Emperor and allow us to get close undetected . . .”

But Jim shook his head. “We’ve got nothing.” It was good of Spock to try, but Jim was the one with the natural intuition for that sort of thing, the one to come up with a crazy plan at the last possible moment that got them all out alive, and even he saw no easy way around it. “We’ll just have to wait and start again.”

Everyone groaned, not even bothering to hide their frustration. Jim shared their feelings, but part of him wanted to smile. It would have been impossible to even imagine something like this when he first came on the _Enterprise_ six years earlier. A crew ready to storm the Emperor’s own stronghold at his side, people he trusted to fight beside him, and a bondmate whose love he could feel.

Waiting another year or two didn’t seem so terrible.

* * *

_2263, USS Enterprise_

Jim coughed, dragging himself up with one hand wrapped around the arm of the Captain’s chair as he tried to look around the darkened room. “Is everybody okay? Anyone hurt?”

Calls rang out one by one through the room until he sagged with relief that everyone seemed okay. A second later, he tensed, not hearing the person he wanted most. “Spock?”

“I am well, Captain,” Spock said quietly, somewhere behind him. “I was merely assisting the Lieutenant.”

Jim nodded, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling he always got when he saw Spock and Nyota together. “Emergency lights.”

It took a moment, but pale white light eventually turned on, flooding the room. Spock was almost immediately at his side, sharply-angled brows drawn together. “James, the ion storm appears to have affected several of the ship’s systems.”

“Yeah. I can kind of see that, Spock.” Jim leaned stood up fully, subconsciously leaning on Spock’s side before pulling away. “Anyone know where we are?”

“I will not be able to tell until the computers come back online.”

“Perfect.” He ran a hand through his hair, turning so he was facing everyone. “Chekov, go down to engineering and come back with a report from Scotty. Rand, check on the transporter room and see if they’re functional. Spock, get some of the engineers and science officers together and try to get the computers back up—”

Before he could finish, a sound rang throughout the ship, like something pounding on metal. Like knocking. “ _Identified at the Terran starship ISS ENTERPRISE._ ”

Then all hell broke loose.

* * *

Jim stumbled forward, baring his teeth when the guard standing in front of him knocked an elbow into his chest, sending him reeling back before he stopped himself. Beady red eyes looked at him with disgust. “Watch yourself, Terran. This is no place for your kind.”

Jim widened his mouth in an ugly grin. “ _This entire quadrant is ours_ ,” he said in the alien’s native tongue, bracing himself for the strike that landed across his face. He smiled wider.

A seven-fingered hand wrapped around his upper hand, dragging him forward. “You will stand trial for your crimes, _human_.” A door materialized and opened in the gray wall they’d been walking along, revealing a small room with nothing inside except another prisoner, a man with blonde hair in a yellow-gold shirt, the same color as Jim’s uniform jacket.

Jim eyed the man sharply as he was forced inside, his hands still restrained by the thick cuffs around his wrists. ( _Amateurs. Don’t they know Terrans need more than that? This guy would be laughed at back home._ ) The door slid shut behind him, instantly melting back into the wall. _Dramatic, much?_ There were no other visible exits, not even a vent or food hole. Either there was something he couldn’t see, or they weren’t going to be here long enough to suffocate (or that guard was lying about the whole _trial_ thing, which would _really_ put a damper on Jim’s plans). Jim didn’t bother looking back, keeping close to the wall as he observed the other inmate. The guy seemed half-asleep, laying down with his face to the wall. _Leaving his back exposed? Maybe he’s not Terran._

Jim stepped forward, nudging the man’s leg. “You alive? Or am I supposed to eat you?” It wouldn’t be his weirdest prison meal.

The other prisoner jerked upward, suddenly alert as he turned to face. Jim’s eyes widened as he stared into his own face.

The man stared back.

Then— “What the fuck?!”  
  



	15. Mirror Image

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: starting at this point, mirror!characters will be primarily referred to by their last names within the narration, mirror!Kirk will be James if it's his or m!Spock's pov and Kirk if it's from prime!Jim or prime!Spock's pov. As for the Spocks . . . we will simply have to struggle together.

Spock paused, the phaser cold in his hands as he processed the new information. Firstly, James had been captured. This was unacceptable, but could and would be dealt with in due time. Secondly (and, he had to admit, much more interestingly) an almost exact replica of the _Enterprise_ and its crew had appeared above the planet they were on.

_Fascinating._

The Scimirians were not difficult to deal with. The fact that they’d even taken James at all had been a combination of luck and their opponent’s ability to put together a respectable defense in admirable time. Spock would have to question some of them later; their methods could possibly be deployed by the Empire. Still, it had not taken long to handle the main body of the uprising after they arrived. The smaller off-shoots could be put down at a later time. He would tell Sulu to handle it.

More concerning was James. There were many small cells, both nearby and farther away, where he could be being held. Attacking the wrong one, if close, could mean that they would have time to move or possibly execute James. This was unacceptable. Fortunately, they had something that their opponents would not consider: their bond. He was certain that with some time alone and meditation, he could approximate his mate’s location. If all went well, they should have James back by the end of the day.

The last thing was . . . most worrying.

An ion storm had begun forming above the planet mere moments after they arrived. They were lucky not to have been caught in it. It appeared that this shadow-crew had been less fortunate.

The Scimirians took notice of the second crew at the same time as they did. They assumed, naturally if incorrectly, that this ship carried surprise reinforcements for the _ISS Enterprise_. Several small ships were sent to detain the second ship. This made their victory easier; the enemy was effectively split in half. The new crew quickly began evacuating, although it appeared that not all of them had been able to do so. Possibly their ship was ‘dead in the water’, as James would say, with only limited transporter and shuttle availability. By the time all of those who were able to escape had, it took no effort at all for Spock to organize his crew and have them rounded up on the real _Enterprise_.

When it was done, the command crew returned to the ship, congregating in the war room. They spoke over each other, voices rising as they tried to determine what was happening, a dozen different conspiracies being born in moments. Spock stood at the head of the table in James’s usual spot, spending a few minutes gathering his own thoughts before silently raising a finger. Within a few seconds, the others quieted, looking to him. He let them wait a moment before speaking.

“We gain nothing through paranoia and aimless conspiracy. What is needed is to obtain control of this new ship and analyze any information it contains, connections to Starfleet or otherwise. Lieutenant Commander Sulu, take the ship and report back within two hours. Afterwards, prepare teams to send after the remaining insurgents. We do not need them to distract us further. We will also require further security in the brig to ensure our guests stay in line. Lieutenant Commander Scott, it is possible that this faux- _Enterprise_ is in need of serious repair. Be ready. Doctor McCoy, attend to our injured crewmen. Lieutenant Uhura, prepare a report for Starfleet. Do not mention this new crew.” She did not need to be told of course, but it was never wise to leave such things unsaid.

McCoy scowled, leaning forward on the table. “And what the hell are we gonna do about Jim exactly? You spend any time thinking about _that_?”

Spock sometimes thought that it was fortunate James considered the doctor a friend; no other Captain would tolerate his insolence. Spock himself would not have tolerated it, but he knew that in this case, his anger was born of worry for James and thus acceptable. “I will retrieve the Captain personally . . . after we acquire the ship, and after I question our prisoners.”

* * *

The cell was not large, about five feet by five, with no bed or anything else to look at but each other. Regardless, Kirk took his time scoping out every inch of the room, running his hands along the floor and walls, searching for any kind of opening or porous material.

“I already checked this whole place,” Jim said tiredly, staring at his doppelganger.

Kirk glared at him with open suspicion. “Yeah. I’ll just trust that. Makes sense.” He continued with his work, his frown growing when he still found nothing. _Damn it._ Once Spock got him out of this place, they’d have to figure out how these cells worked. He’d love to have something like this on his ship. It would be good for when some of the crew members got too drunk and thought running head-first into the black glass walls of the brig was a good idea.

Eventually, he gave up, resigning himself to the fact that he would either have to wait for Spock and the crew to get him or hope that an opportunity presented itself soon. Both ideas involved waiting, which he _hated_ . . . but at least he had some entertainment this time around.

He slid down the wall, staring straight across to the man wearing his face. With so little space, there wasn’t even enough room for both of them to spread their legs like this. Kirk stretched his out, casually laying them across Jim’s so that the other man, easily realizing he’d done so on purpose, was too annoyed to do anything more than pull his own knees up. Kirk smiled.

Jim tried to avoid looking for him, ignoring the way Kirk nonchalantly rolling his feet, until he couldn’t anymore. “Is there a reason you’re staring at me?”

Kirk’s smile widened. “You’re just so pretty, I can’t help myself.” His tone was joking. The light in his eyes was anything but. “Who sent you here? Georgiou?” He tilted his head. “What are you, a spy? Romulan? Heard they improved their cosmetic surgery . . . but then, if I was Romulan, I’d want to look like me too.”

Jim frowned, now returning the other man’s stare. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Kirk shrugged. “I sincerely doubt we’re long-lost twins.” If nothing else, his mother’s medical exams had been logged with Starfleet when she was pregnant, and he’d long ago gotten his hands on those.

Jim’s nose scrunched up. “God, I hope not. My life is already too dramatic.”

Kirk quirked his brow in a gesture that was so _Spock_ -like that Jim almost jumped. “Oh? Then what exactly is it that you expect me to believe?”

And, okay, Jim imagined that if he was even half as paranoid as this guy seemed to be (which honestly, considering the career he had, didn’t seem that far off), then things like Romulan spies would seem like a perfectly reasonable conclusion. It made as much sense as anything else. Probably more.

Except that Jim knew about at least _one_ thing his double didn’t. The _other_ -Spock (although now that he thought about it, it was possible that there were multiple other-Spocks and that— that was a lot to think about, and was probably something he should focus on when he was alone and there wasn’t a serious possibility of being killed by himself). The Spock who’d been older, who warned them of Nero and Khan, who’d melded his mind to Jim’s and let him experience another person in a way he never had before and hasn’t since, the Spock who’d _died—_

Jim sucked in a breath and forced the thought down. He needed to be calm, in control. Thinking about . . . _that_ would only make the situation worse (and it was already pretty bad). Instead, he decided to skip to the important part.

“How likely would you be to punch me if I said alternate universes exist and sometimes people can travel between them?”

The look on Kirk’s face suggested it was pretty likely.

* * *

It was not long before his crew had finished the duties he’d assigned them. He was fortunate that they obeyed him as well as they did James; another sign of the crew’s respect for their leader and his ability to mold them into something rare in the Empire. _Loyal._

He returned to the Captain’s quarters to review the information they’d taken from the other _Enterprise’s_ computers. It was all fascinating in its own right — crew assignments, research, logs, diplomatic missions, reports, commands from Starfleet, records, starmaps, all so similar yet completely different from anything he knew — but what interested him most was a single routine, seemingly insignificant, set of data.

The quantum signature was the level at which all matter in the universe resonated. There was no way to change it, nor any reason to. It was a constant; whether you measured it on Earth, Vulcan, Qo’noS, the Delta Quadrant, _anywhere_ , it was the same.

But not on the _USS Enterprise_.

When Spock noticed the discrepancy, he was stunned, growing completely still for nearly ten seconds. Then he made sure that there was no way for anyone to intercept the information on his tricorders before measuring the quantum variance himself, using a number of objects from the other ship and the captured crew to test his theory. They all had the same signature, but not the one he knew.

_They are not of this universe._

His suspicions confirmed, Spock handed the bridge over to Sulu and made sure he would not be wanted before heading down to the brig. He would have to tell the command team of his findings — though he was still unsure how or even _if_ the rest of the crew should know, and how to hide it from them if not — but for now there was a more pressing matter to attend to.

The guards crossed their chests and bowed when he entered, their eyes trained on the tiny cells holding their visitors. Spock walked down the hall, finding the one he wanted. To the security officer standing before the door, he said, “I must question this prisoner. I will send for you if needed.”

That done, he opened the door and stepped inside, hearing it shut behind him. The prisoner faced him with dark eyes identical to his own.

He spoke first. “Mister Spock.”

The mirrored eyes narrowed. “Mister Spock.”  
  



	16. A Clouded Mirror

Jim was quickly learning just how annoying it was to be locked in a cage with himself.

After Kirk punched him in the jaw (which still smarted, and had definitely left a bruise, that dick, even if it was impressive to have that much dexterity while his hands were cuffed), he conceded that the idea had merit. He also said that if Jim was lying to him, he was going to die, but that wasn’t surprising by that point.

“Am I still a Captain in your universe — which I’m not saying exists, but for the sake of not going insane with boredom?”

Jim shrugged, still glaring at the other-him every now and then, but also not having anything else to do but talk. “Yeah. Five years now.”

Kirk stared at him for a moment, eyes unabashedly picking out his features in a way that made Jim feel weirdly self-conscious since it was kind of _himself_ doing that. “Things are different in your world, aren’t they?

“Wouldn’t be much point in an alternate universe if there _wasn’t_.”

Kirk shrugged as though he thought that was a point. “Fair.” He walked over to Jim again, nudging his leg with the toe of his boot until Jim batted him away with constrained hands. “It’s obvious, though. A bit too on the nose. You barely even look like me.”

“What- we have the same face!”

“I wear it better.” Kirk shrugged before leaning against the wall, seeming even more energetically restless than Jim. “Besides, you look . . . soft. Like you would be easy to kill.”

Jim was immediately offended, but Kirk stood by what he said. When you grew up in the Terran Empire, the signs of an easy target became second nature to you. Jim’s face seemed unmarred by scars of battles past. If there were lines around his eyes, they were from stress, not anger or fear. His eyes, as blue as Kirk’s, were wary, but not threatening, or even scared. His uniform, if it could even be called that, looked like it was designed more for civilian wear than for a soldier. There were no medals on his chest. No, this Jim Kirk was definitely not a warrior. Maybe a fighter if the situation called for it, but he would be eaten alive on Terra.

Which begged the question . . . “What’s Starfleet in your universe?” Because it was obvious that this Jim was still in Starfleet. Where else could they belong, in any universe?

But it was equally obvious that any Starfleet that had _this_ Jim Kirk as a Captain couldn’t be anything like the one James knew.

* * *

There were no chairs, tables, or even beds in the brig of Terran Starfleet ships. Nothing at all that could be used as a weapon. If that seemed petty or unnecessary, then a prisoner should simply be grateful that they were not in one of the booths.

Regardless, the result was that the two Vulcans had to stand as they faced each other, neither willing to lower themselves, either physically or metaphorically. They stared at each other for a long moment, dark eyes meeting and taking in their opponent, before the Commander spoke. “I have examined your ship at length. I am aware that you are not of this universe.”

If the other Spock had already known that, he didn’t show it. He kept tight control of his emotions, allowing nothing through. Vulcans, at least, seemed to be similar in both universes in that regard. _Fascinating._

“You must know that your crew is in our custody. With your Captain unaccounted for—” and that got the slightest hint of a reaction, the way the other Vulcan’s eyes shifted and his pupils dilated, but that was something to think of later, “—you are responsible for their safety and well-being. It is to your benefit and theirs to negotiate with me.”

The prisoner narrowed his eyes. “You are threatening my crew to force my hand.”

“Correct.” They were Vulcan. There was no reason to be coy.

Spock considered that, weighing his options. Jim was nowhere to be found. They were without allies, supplies, or weapons, and from what little he knew, it seemed unlikely that this mirrored-crew would simply release the _Enterprise_ back into their custody. And Jim . . .

He had to help Jim. Whatever it took. “State your terms.”

“I will search for your Captain Kirk; it is likely he was captured by the same people who took my own, or their associates. When my Captain has been returned, we will require the assistance of yourself and your crew in a mission we have been planning for some time. These terms are non-negotiable. If you agree and attempt to go back on the deal, your crew will be summarily executed and you yourself will be made to watch before being constrained in a torture chamber until your death. I will see to it that you live a long time.” He didn’t mention that if they failed in this mission, because of the other crew’s lack of cooperation or not, that he himself would not be around to see that promise through. It didn’t matter. Vulcans didn’t care so much about lying as they once had . . . although sometimes it was useful to let the Terrans think they did.

The captive frowned, obviously irritated by the lack of details. “Clarify. What is this mission you are determined to force us into?”

“You will learn when my Captain returns.”

“That is insufficient.”

“I am aware. You must be aware that you have no other options.”

Both Spocks knew how right that was.

* * *

“What do you mean you _met Khan?_ ”

Kirk had stopped dead in the middle of his stretched, now staring incredulously at the man wearing his face as he sat upside-down with his legs up on the wall. Jim mirrored his position for lack of anything better to do. Now, he looked at his doppelganger in confusion. “There’s a Khan in this universe?”

Kirk nodded. “The first Terran Emperor. Everyone knows that. Before him, we were just a small planet with three hundred tiny, petty countries constantly at war. Khan united the entire planet in the twentieth century. On the last day of 1999, he fought the last battle from Earth. When the year changed, we were _Terra_.” Kirk’s blue eyes shone. He spoke as though reciting something from a book he’d read a hundred times, or a lesson that a teacher forced him to memorize. His face had so changed that Jim no longer saw himself reflected in it. “Khan was the last Augment, and he aged slowly. Maybe not at all. He ruled Earth for more than a hundred years before disappearing out of the blue one day. He captured Vulcan, Andor, Orion, a dozen more. No one could defeat him. If it weren’t for Khan, we would still be a single lone planet in the vastness of space, constantly split apart by petty in-fighting. Not an Empire. Definitely not as powerful as we are now.”

Kirk looked at him sharply. “Your Khan wasn’t a weak bitch like you, right?”

Jim turned to him just as quickly. “No," he spat out in anger. "In fact, he held my crew hostage, almost killed me and Spock, and purposefully crashed a starship into San Francisco, killing dozens out of revenge, and crushed a man’s skull in his bare hands _in front of his daughter_.”

Kirk let out a breath of relief. “Good. At least _something_ went right in your world.”

“That’s . . . I don’t like you.”

“Feeling’s mutual.” Kirk flopped onto his side, rolling over on his stomach and propping his head up with his hands. “I wonder which Spock will get here first. I mean, obviously mine is completely loyal to me and yours is probably off weeping at the injustice of it all if you’re anything to go by, but who knows, they might surprise us yet.”

Jim arched a brow (and, _uh_ , of course he would do that as soon as the asshole brought up Spock, honestly, he was so _predictable_ ). “Spock will come. He’s definitely not gonna leave me here to rot with _you_.”

Honestly, Jim didn’t feel anywhere near as confident as he sounded. Once he’d been separated from the crew and had his comm confiscated, he had no idea of knowing what was going on with the others. Spock might have been caught and taken somewhere else, he could be injured, he could have died—

No. Spock was not dead. They did not go through all the absolute _bullshit_ of the past five years just to die in a universe where everyone was an asshole and no one they knew would ever find out what happened. Spock was far too _logical_ to die like that. He was . . . too _human_ to do that.

Kirk shrugged, closing his eyes. “Maybe. I guess we’ll just see whose Vulcan gets here first.”

Jim paused. “You seemed pretty sure I knew Spock . . . but I never mentioned him. I’m not that stupid. But you’re open about it, even though for the short, unpleasant time I’ve known you, you’ve been more paranoid than a Romulan spy. So why give away something so private? It’s not an _accident_ , you’ve survived too long to make dumb mistakes. So you must have thought—”

Kirk struck so fast that Jim didn’t even realize what was happening until the other man was pressing down on his chest with his legs, a savage look in his blue eyes when he brought his hands down on Jim’s cheek. Pain burst in his face as he writhed, trying to throw off the attacker. Kirk refused to move. He wrapped his fingers around Jim’s throat, using his knees to keep Jim’s hands down when he tried to fight back. Kirk tightened his grip. “Do _not_ try to psychoanalyze. You don’t know me, you’ll never _know me._ And you sure as fuck don’t know anything about me and Spock.” Suddenly, he let go, moving back and slumping against the opposite wall, eyes mocking as Jim sputtered and rubbed his neck. “Consider this a lesson, free of charge: if you want to survive here, learn how to shut up.”

 _Idiot_ , Kirk silently reprimanded himself when Jim finally pushed himself back up. He’d gotten too cozy with this other version of himself and didn’t think of what he revealed. He’d _assumed_ , that was the stupid thing. Spock would be disappointed in him. It was _illogical_ to assume without evidence. But it hadn’t even occurred to him to think . . . that there was a universe where he knew Spock but didn’t have or love or even want him. 

And now Jim knew too much, and it was his own damn fault.

It takes a few minutes for Jim to speak. “You’re the one who brought it up.”

Before Kirk can murder him, they were interrupted by a quiet, high-pitched whistling sound. Jim frowned in confusion, but Kirk smiled, standing up. “Get ready,” he said, standing beside the wall they’d come in through. The bond was thrumming in his mind, bright and alive as he did his best to project their location to Spock. “They’re coming.”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: adding a late a/n here to say that I am taking a break from working on this fic. I've been back in classes for a few weeks now, and that's taking the majority of my energy. Between online college, living with my (loving but draining family), Covid, and writing, something had to give. I don't have the motivation to write this right now, and I know if I try, I'll just be putting out subpar work, and I would rather wait a little while and come back to it refreshed than half-ass something I end up disappointed in. So although this is definitely NOT abandoned or orphaned, I'm putting it on the back-burner and turning it on low. Sorry if that disappoints anyone, but I'd prefer to make it clear rather than just not updating for a while with no word.


End file.
